This is Reality
by Jesse Falling
Summary: Complete. Eventually, the explanation of their deaths faded from question and became reality. Dead to the world with nothing to live for, they must now fight to survive. BB
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Cam stood tentatively in the doorway of Angela's office, not wanting to disturb her. It was obvious that she was in the middle of a drawing, but the matter that brought Cam to her office was important. Then again, it was always important if either of them actually felt the need to speak face to face.

"Angela?"

Angela looked up from her paper, only to look back down. "Yes?" she replied, sounding a bit annoyed.

"I was curious to know if Dr. Goodman stopped by today, to introduce you to the new anthropologist. Dr. Allison Blanche?"

Setting her pencil down, Angela looked at Cam. "No, Goodman never mentioned anything to me," she said with a sigh, shaking her head. She then stood up, grabbing a few of her things, ready to avoid the impending doom of the subject at hand. "Well, I'm done for the day. I'm going home."

Cam backed out of the doorway, understanding that Angela didn't want to discuss it with her. "Goodnight, Angela."

She received no reply.

Shrugging her shoulders, Cam headed back towards her office. She was trying her hardest, and if the artist didn't like her despite those efforts, then that was one less thing to worry about.

XXXXX

"Miss Montenegro! Miss Montenegro!"

Angela turned to face the source of the sound that was now echoing throughout the entire parking garage. She found the source, but didn't recognize the young woman walking straight towards her.

"Miss Montenegro, I'm glad I caught up to you." The woman offered her hand. "It's an honor."

In an attempt to be polite, Angela slapped on a fake smile. "And to whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"Allison Blanche. Doctor," she added modestly

"Ah yes. My boss told me about you."

"Oh really?" Dr. Blanche asked with one of those humble 'oh, she shouldn't have' laughs.

Angela inwardly rolled her eyes, and outwardly shrugged. "Well, she told me you were here," she said, putting an end to her short-lived attempt to hide that she really didn't care.

Dr. Blanche's smile faltered the tiniest bit, but recovered quickly. "Yes, well, Dr. Goodman was kind enough to give me a tour of the forensics division. We walked past your office, and I wanted to introduce myself, but Dr. Goodman told me it wasn't a good time."

Angela smiled a noticeably fake smile. "You know, Goodman was right. And now really isn't a great time, either. I apologize, Dr….?"

"Blanche. But please, it's Allison."

"Allison. I have somewhere I need to be," Angela stated, continuing her walk to her car.

From behind, Dr. Blanche was obviously trying to make it seem like she didn't feel blown off. "Of course, Miss Montenegro. I understand you must be busy."

Angela silently got into her car and drove home, hating this woman already.

Dr. Blanche had only the name of the woman she was replacing, only the knowledge that could be drawn from the books and interviews. She had no clue what kind of people she'd be working with, or what they'd all been through together. And she hadn't the slightest idea that each and every one of them would hate her from day one. Why? Because Allison Blanche was not Temperance Brennan.

After a year and a half, it was apparent that there needed to be a new forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian. Angela was sure that Hodgins and Zack would agree with her that they knew it was time…but they just didn't like the idea.

A new forensic anthropologist also meant that soon after, the FBI would begin giving them cases again, which meant a new agent. They hated thinking about it, drilling it into their minds that no, it wasn't all some terrible dream.

This was their reality.

Temperance Brennan and Seeley Booth were gone.

Dead.

Forever.

* * *

Tazara Werner sat on the edge of the old, moldy spring mattress, gritting her teeth as hot tears ran down her cheeks in her desperate attempt to not make a sound. Strands of her dark brown hair clung to her sweaty forehead, dirt streaks covering her face from all the tears.

Weston Moore knelt on the dirt-covered floor in front of her, giving all his concentration to his best friend's injured leg. He shushed her gently when she let out a small whimper.

"I know it hurts…" he whispered as he continued to remove the blade from where it was embedded a few inches above her knee. "I know…"

The final pull yanked the sob from Tazara's chest that she had been trying so hard to suppress. Weston quickly got up and put the blade in the dirty sink behind him and grabbed the old rag he had sitting on he mattress next to her, pressing it to her leg and keeping pressure applied.

"Better?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm gonna pass out," Tazara said, letting out another involuntary sob.

"Don't fight it," he told her. "I'll be here when you wake up."

But she was out cold before he finished his sentence. Weston scooted her back onto the mattress, making sure he kept the pressure on her thigh. Holding the gauze between his teeth, he positioned himself to dress her leg. Once he did the best job he could with their limited supplies, he laid himself next to her, a fair two feet between them.

It had been an excruciatingly long day, and he'd come so close to losing her. Taking a long glance at his partner, Weston leaned over and pressed a light kiss to her temple. She was passed out; she'd never know.

"I'll be here when you wake up," he reassured her. "Sleep well, Bones."

* * *

_Please review and let me know what you think and if I should continue. Thanks. –JF_


	2. Hold On

_I am shocked and flattered by the response this story received. Thank you so much for reading! -JF_

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Bones_ or any of its characters. I just took them out to play. I promise to put them back._

_

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**Chapter 1 – Hold On**

Angela rang the doorbell for the third time, wrapping her jacket tighter around herself. It was unusually cold for this time of year. She went to ring the doorbell again, but the door opened.

"Angela!" Russ greeted her, giving her a warm embrace. "Holy crap, it's cold. Come inside."

Angela eagerly accepted the invitation, and Russ took her coat and showed her to the couch. "So…anything new with you, Russ?"

"Not much. You want a beer?"

Angela sighed. "Sure. Why not?"

Russ nodded and headed to his fridge. "So…what brings such a fair lady to my humble abode at this hour?"

Another sigh escaped Angela's lips. "We're getting a new forensic anthropologist at the Jeffersonian."

Russ set himself down on the couch beside her and took a swig of beer. "You still work in that Hell-hole?"

Of all the approaches Russ could have taken to death, he chose to be distant and not talk about it. Angela understood, though, that with a murdered mother, runaway father and a murdered sister, Russ had the right to choose whatever approach he wished.

"Yeah…the Jeffersonian needs us. Cam needs us," Angela said, trying to hide her distain for her boss.

Russ smirked ever so slightly. "You sure it's not you squints who need the Jeffersonian?"

"Why would that be?" Angela asked.

"It's your connection to Tempe, Ange. You're holding on to it so that you can hold on to her."

Angela smiled. "No, that's what I have you for."

Russ returned her smile. They both knew it was true. Their friendship had been born of their need to have some kind of memory of Brennan, something to hold on to that reminded them of her. Something to make sure they never felt too far away from the woman they both loved.

"She didn't leave much behind, did she?" Russ reflected. "Just a bunch of bones and three books. And us."

"Yeah." The two were silent for a momet. "You know what, Russ?"

"Hmm?"

"I miss her. Everyday, and I feel like a huge part of my life is missing. But…if she had to go…I'm glad Booth went with her."

"You hate the guy that much?" Russ asked.

"No! No," Angela amended, wishing she could take it back and rephrase it. "It just…seems right that they went down together."

"Ah."

"It would have been terrible to watch either one of them if it was only Booth, or only Bren. Having them gone…together…it's just _right._"

"Think what you'd like, make it into what you'd like," Russ said, standing up, "but I still wish it had just been Booth."

It was understandable, Angela knew, but she couldn't help but try and convince him. "Do you know how the report said they found them, Russ?"

Russ had his back to her and froze, but didn't turn around. Of course he knew what the report said.

"He was holding her. Protecting her. You sister and her partner _died_ holding each other." Still speaking to his back, her eyes filling with tears, Angela continued. "And if that doesn't convince you…then I don't know what can."

* * *

Temperance repositioned herself on her side, but in her tiredness forgot about the pain it would cause her. She let out a small cry, knowing that however much the bleeding had been controlled, it was now bleeding anew. 

Careful not to put any weight on her leg and move it the minimal amount, Brennan got herself up into a sitting position and reached over to the rickety bedside table, where she hoped Booth put the gauze. Blindly searching the dark area in front of her, Temperance ended up knocking over an open bottle of water.

The sound of the glass bottle hitting the dirt-covered floor shot Booth to wakening. "Bones! Are you okay?" he asked from behind her.

Temperance smiled, having learned to appreciate his protectiveness. In places like Calcutta, India, she admitted that she needed the strong alpha male to protect her. Sometimes.

"I'm fine," she whispered.

Booth sat up further and scooted himself closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"My leg. It's bleeding again. I was trying to get the gauze…"

Booth gave a disapproving sigh, rolling off the bed and digging through his bag for his flashlight. Once he found it, he knelt in front of Temperance just as he had done a few hours before, and handed her the flashlight.

"I'm still not used to this whole no electricity thing," Booth said with a smile, trying to get his partner to concentrate on something else as he cleaned the blood from where it had begun to stream down her calf with the same old rag he had used before.

"The parts of Guatemala that I visited never had electricity," Brennan said, wincing as Booth began redressing her thigh. "At last here…here we have plumbing." She smiled at Booth, trying to take her mind off of the pain in her leg. "Better news for me than you."

Tying off the gauze, Booth sat next to Temperance on the mattress. "What are the odds of that getting infected?" he asked her. He had an idea, but trusted her judgment more than his own.

Brennan thought a little. "I never saw what it was. Do you still have it?"

Booth nodded, walking the short distance over to the grimy sink that held the bloody blade. He handed it to her and sat back down, holding the flashlight so she could look at it clearly.

"Well, there's no rust on it, so tetanus is pretty unlikely…but judging by the raggedness of the sharp edge and the uncleanliness of this city as a whole..." Brennan trailed off and rubbed her forehead with a bloody palm. "I should know, shouldn't I?"

Booth caught Temperance's wrist, stopping her from smearing more blood on her face.

All she could do was look at him with large, sad eyes. "I think I'm losing it, Booth. Everything I knew…all the time I spent…and I'm losing it." The exhaustion of the day's events was catching up to Temperance, and Booth himself wasn't sure how much more he could take.

Booth wrapped Brennan in his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder, willing to accept his support. "It's hard, I know it is," he told her.

"I miss them, Booth," Temperance whispered.

"I know, Bones. I miss them, too."

"I want to go home."

Booth pulled her closer and held her tighter. "You know we can't, Temperance. And you know we can't change what's happened, so we just gotta make the best of it. We're still alive, right?" Brennan nodded into his chest. "Both of us. You've got me, I've got you, okay?"

She nodded again and pulled away. "I'm sorry. Today has just been…"

Booth held Brennan at arm's length. "Hey, do you remember what I just said?"

Brennan sighed. "I've got you, you've got me. I know. It's practically been your motto ever since we died."

Getting off the mattress and once again kneeling in front of her, Booth's eyes become serious. "Bones, look at me." Right away, she did. "I could just give up. I could say that I lived for doing the good I did in the FBI. I could say that I lived for Parker. I could say that life isn't worth living if I can't even go by my own name, I can't ever see anyone who might recognize me as Seeley Booth. I could give up. But I don't. And do you know why?"

Now that Brennan thought about it, she _didn't_ know why. So she shook her head no.

"Because I may be dead to the world, but you're right here in front of me. And you know who I am." Booth smiled. "I'm living for you, Bones."

If said differently, Booth's statement could have been taken in a romantic fashion, but the way he chose to say it made it a profession of his devotion to her. To their friendship. Reassuring Brennan that no matter what, they were in this together. They died together, and now they'd fight together.

"And I you," Brennan said as Booth stood.

"Now," Booth told her. "Get some sleep."

Brennan lay down, but couldn't close her eyes. She felt Booth lie next to her. A year and a half ago, she never would have allowed him to do such a thing, and never imagined that he would ever try. Angela would have said that she always saw it coming, but Brennan knew that Angela would be disappointed to know that they had never, and weren't sharing a bed for the reasons everyone would have hoped.

The night was unusually cold. Brennan sighed as she wrapped her jacket tighter around herself, cursing the one thin blanket the two of them shared; cursing the fact that even with Booth lying beside her, being dead made her feel so alone.

* * *

_Please let me know what you think! Thanks. -JF_

_(Also, some explanations are to come!)_


	3. The Thick File

_I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed for the feedback. It really helped. -JF_

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Bones_ or any of its characters. I only use them for fun.

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**Chapter 2 – The Thick File**

Though she had only been the Hoover building a few times, Angela had no trouble finding Deputy Director Cullen's office. She also had no trouble at all getting into the building just by flashing her ID showing that she worked at the Jeffersonian. Right away, they all knew who she was.

Without even knocking, Angela walked into Cullen's office and stood in front of his desk.

Angela had always spoken her mind before, but over the course of everything that had happened, she became very abrasive, and somewhat rude. She knew she only did it because people let her get away with it, and that it was because they felt sorry for her, but she had learned to take advantage of what she could.

"I want to look at the file," she told Cullen, knowing that specification was not needed.

He had looked up and then back down when she had first opened the door, and now looked at her again. "Miss Montenegro, it's so nice to see you."

Angela scoffed. "You hate it when I come here, but luckily for you, I do too. I'd like to look at the file." She knew that with Booth as one of Cullen's top and favorite agents, there would be a copy of the official file somewhere where Cullen could easily get his hands on it.

The old man sighed and leaned back in his desk chair, reaching into a drawer and pulling out the very thick file. "You know there're pictures," he warned her, handing it over.

"I know. Thank you," Angela said simply, and left the office. She knew that she not only carried Booth and Brennan's files, but also the case they'd been working on when it happened. It was really like seventeen files all in one. As she walked down the hall, she spotted the door she wanted.

Somehow, eighteen months had passed and Booth's office had been cleaned out, but not reassigned to anyone else. It remained empty and bare, dust building up on every surface. This was another occurrence that just seemed _right_ to Angela. His office was an empty space, like the one she knew everyone who knew him felt when they realized that they would never feel his presence again.

Angela slowly closed the door to Booth's office and just looked at it for a second, before she pressed her back to the door and slid to the ground. Taking a deep breath, she opened the file.

* * *

_Nineteen months earlier, Jeffersonian Institute_

"Bones, how's it coming along?" Booth asked as he swiped his card and walked up the steps of the platform.

Brennan stood over the set of ancient remains on the examination table. "Same as before. We haven't made much progress. Why?"

Booth held up a rather thick case file. "Wanted to talk to you about this."

"Another case?"

"Yes. Well, not exactly. Can we talk in your office?"

"Yeah, sure," Brennan answered, pulling off her gloves and leading the way off the platform. She could tell there was something important they were about to dive into, so she began to prepare herself.

Sitting comfortably on Brennan's couch, Booth opened the case file and indicated that she should come sit next to him so they could both look at it. Though this was different than how they usually handled it, Brennan obeyed.

"Why is it such a thick file?"

"It's really like sixteen files all in one," Booth answered seriously.

"Seven years ago, a school group of fifteen Americans disappeared on their way to an archeological dig ten miles outside of Calcutta, India." Booth pulled a picture of the whole group out of the paperclip at the top of the file. It looked like the picture was taken at the airport, just before they left, obviously Dulles International. "Twelve were students, two were archeology professors, and one was a professor of anthropology." Booth stopped to smile at Brennan. It wasn't often they had one of _them_ go missing.

"What is suspected? Kidnap?" Brennan asked.

"At first, yeah. But there wasn't enough information to go anywhere with the investigation. And since it was on foreign soil, we couldn't do anything because we had no jurisdiction."

"Why is this being brought up seven years later?"

Booth pulled out a picture and handed it to Brennan without ever looking at it.

"What am I supposed to be looking at? I don't see anything."

"I would have thought that you of all people would recognize a mass gave when you saw one."

Brennan looked closer, squinting. "Oh…"

"Yeah. It's believed to be the Americans. Since the FBI knows that you've spent vacation time in Guatemala working on this type of thing, they'd like to ask you to fly to Calcutta and work alongside some others, but paid by the FBI."

"Yeah, sure, I'll go."

"What? That's it? I don't have to convince you with my wonderful charm?"

Brennan chuckled a little bit. "No, you don't. I've never been to Calcutta. It should be interesting. And whether or not these remains are American, they still need to be heard. They can't just sit there, nameless. The FBI doesn't even have to pay me. I'd go anyway."

"Great. It's a dream come true. We leave Thursday at four in the morning."

"Wait, Booth. 'We'? How are you involved in this?"

"Well, I don't have to go because it's not FBI jurisdiction, but I was given the option to go on a two-month sabbatical. And as I was talking to Cullen, he made his point clear that you know, you're my partner and you might need supervision or…protecting." He quickly shot his palms up defensively as he felt her begin to react to his statement, and made himself clear. "Not that that's my stand on the whole thing, Bones. Don't worry; I know you can take care of yourself. But I wanted to go just to make sure things go smoothly."

"Smoothly? Booth, it's a mass grave. There will be very little that goes smoothly."

"Well, if you confirm that they are Americans, maybe if I'm there, I can convince whoever to let me in on the whole thing. And I guess I could keep you company, too," Booth added with a smile.

Brennan scoffed. "Oh, yeah right. Booth, I've done this thing many times before. I don't need you to protect me."

"Oh well," Booth said simply. He was coming whether she liked it or not.

Under everything, though, Brennan was actually grateful that he wanted to go, because mass graves where the most dangerous things she'd ever worked on. The people who always watched her scared her, really. And the fact that Booth could see that and not mention that it was one of her weakest points made Brennan wonder exactly why he was so nice to her. She was glad he insisted on coming.

Brennan nodded in agreement. "Okay. Thursday at 4 AM." As she watched him leave, she couldn't help but smile. His alpha male tendencies never ceased to amaze her. He'd actually accompany her to Calcutta to assert that dominance over her. She shook her head, still smiling. She'd let him protect her, but she didn't think she'd need it.

But just under a month later, she would be proven very, very wrong.

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_Please review! I'd love to know what you think. Thanks. -JF_


	4. He's Not My Man

_I apologize for the delay. Thanks to those who reviewed. You were all very helpful in the process. Enjoy. -JF_

_Disclaimer: Christmas is the time of year to forget the sadness that burdens us day after day. We should be joyful, not downtrodden. This is why I choose to remain ignorant to the fact that I do not own _Bones_ or any of its characters.

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**Chapter 3 – He's Not My Man**

"Bones. Bones."

She heard him as if she were underwater. "Mmmm…" she mumbled.

"Bones."

"I heard you," Brennan said, slapping away the hand that was shaking her shoulder.

"Bones, I need you to get up."

"Why?" Brennan asked, her face buried in the mattress.

"I need to look at your leg."

"What? Why?" Brennan asked again, beginning to wake up. When she finally opened her eyes, Booth stood in front of her, fully dressed and ready to go. "Where are we going?"

"_You_ aren't going anywhere. _I_ am going to the hospital to get some stuff for your leg. If you'll just let me look at it."

"You're going to leave me here?" Brennan asked as she slowly sat up so he could inspect her wound. "Alone? A vulnerable woman in this scary, scary city?" she mocked him. "I thought you cared."

Booth didn't look at her. "Why don't you stop complaining and tell me what you need for you leg."

"I want to go."

"You can't walk, Bones."

"I haven't tried," Brennan told him stubbornly, moving to stand. But when even that small movement caused her pain, Brennan knew that walking would be too much. She settled herself back onto the mattress.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Booth said, grabbing the last of the things he needed for the five mile walk to the hospital. Brennan proceeded to give him a list of things she needed to make sure her leg didn't get infected, adding in a pair of crutches, just in case.

"So if Lana wants to know…" Booth said, "I'm getting you breakfast. Don't let her see your leg."

When Booth swung the door to their room open, Brennan knew the drill. The second anyone could hear them, they became Tazara and Weston.

"Bye Wes," she said, the words still feeling awkward in her mouth.

"Bye Tara."

A few minutes later there came a knock on the door. Knowing it was Lochana, Brennan quickly grabbed the thin blanket beside her and draped it over her legs to hide the bandaging. Lochana was a caring woman with fantastic English, but also very nosy. "Come in," Brennan said.

"Tazara, my princess, Weston left without you today. Is something wrong between the two of you?" the small woman asked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Lochana, I'm just not feeling too well today. Weston is getting me breakfast," Brennan told her with a smile.

"Ooh," Lana sighed, sitting on the bed next to Brennan. "That boy you've got…"

It was times like these when the little old Indian woman reminded Brennan of Angela, and her heart ached for home. "He's not mine, Lana," Brennan warned. "Never has been."

"But the 'will be' is still in question, no?" Lana asked with a grin.

To make her happy, Brennan smiled and shrugged. "You never know."

Lana got up to leave. "Well, I'll let you get your rest, young princess, but I'll have you know: when it comes to Tazara and Weston, no secrets can be kept from Lochana!" She left the room cackling.

If only she knew what kinds of secrets the two of them held.

_Nineteen months earlier, Calcutta, India_

"Dr. Brennan?" A woman's voice asked from behind them. Booth and Brennan both turned to see an average looking woman with shoulder length blonde hair and slight build. "I'm Dr. Marie Kantar, I'm a forensic anthropologist." She offered her hand, which Brennan took. She had a firm shake. Good.

"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Kantar," Brennan said, then got right down to business. "Have you gotten much time to examine the remains that were uncovered?"

They began walking towards the site, Booth behind the two women, glad he didn't really have to do much or even be acknowledged at all.

"I've looked at what can be seen on the surface, but I can't tell much. They should be mostly in tact, though. I've been waiting for you and Dr. Stires before I started anything here."

Both Brennan and Booth stopped walking. "Excuse me, but did you say 'Stires'?" Booth asked, speaking for the first time. "As in Michael Stires?"

As if Dr. Kantar was noticing Booth for the first time, she too stopped walking and tilted her head the slightest bit. "Yes. And who might you be?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth," Booth said, extending his hand, which was left unacknowledged, so he put it down.

"You know you don't have any jurisdiction here, Agent Booth," Dr. Kantar warned.

"He's not here for that," Brennan defended. "He's here to help me. My assistant couldn't make it."

"Ah, yes. The Jeffersonian. There's always an assistant on hand there, isn't there? I'd love to work somewhere like that. I'm still in a basement with no ventilation," Dr. Kantar joked, but they could tell she was a bit bitter. "So Agent Booth, I guess that makes you one of the team."

"Thank you. Now about Dr. Stires…"

"Booth. Don't worry about it."

The smile began to fall off Kantar's face. "Is there a problem with Dr. Stires? He's an excellent anthropologist."

"No, Dr. Kantar. No problem at all," Brennan said, giving Booth 'the look' the entire time, more talking to him than to her new colleague. "There _isn't_ a problem."

"Well, he won't be here for a few more days, so we have time to look and begin the work if you like, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan nodded. "Let's go."

XXXXX

Knee-deep in the muck, beginning to uncover fully intact skeletons, Kantar decided to strike up some conversation. And of course, she chose the topic of Booth. Who wouldn't? "So…that FBI agent. Is he your boyfriend?"

Temperance laughed a little. She guessed it must be an inevitable conversation when someone didn't know them. "No, we're partners."

"And the difference is…?"

"We're not together. We just work together."

"Ah. How long have you been working with him?"

"Almost two years."

"And you haven't slept with him? Wow. You must have a lot of restraint. I've said two words to him and I already want to tap that."

Brennan looked up from the ribcage she was uncovering. "'Tap that'? I don't know what that means."

Kantar just kind of looked at her and sighed with a smile. "You're lucky…to be working with him."

"Because you think he's attractive?" Brennan asked, a bit defensive.

"Well…yeah, I guess that's what I mean."

"I know that I'm very privileged to work with Booth, but it has nothing to do with his physical appearance, Dr. Kantar," Brennan said, looking back to the ribcage to continue uncovering it, now a bit more vigorous than before. "Agent Booth is a good man, a good agent, and a good partner. How he looks and what we'd like to 'tap' have nothing to do with how I measure what kind of a man he is."

"Dr. Brennan, I'm sorry if I offended you. I only meant to compliment your partner. I understand there is much more to a person than they're body." She paused. "I'm an anthropologist too, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan sat back on her heels. "I'm sorry. I haven't slept much."

"It's alright."

They worked in silence for a while before Brennan spoke again. "You don't have to go through me, you know."

"I beg your pardon?" Kantar asked, Brennan's statement making no sense outside of Brennan's own mind. "Go through you?"

"To get to Booth. If you're interested…it's not like he's my property or anything."

"Oh. No, Dr. Brennan. That was never my intent." Kantar sat back and took off a glove, fishing in her shirt pocket for something. When she pulled it out, Brennan understood. "I'm engaged. I have no interest in your partner. I just enjoy looking." Kantar gave Brennan a sly smile before slipping the ring back into her shirt pocket.

"Congratulations," Brennan said with a smile, deciding not to get on Kantar's bad side by going into how much she disagreed with the concept of marriage.

"Do you have someone back in the states waiting for you, Dr. Brennan?"

Brennan shook her head. "No, I'm not really…" she searched for the right words. "I like being alone."

"You don't believe in marriage?"

"What?" she asked, wondering where that came from. "That's not what I said, but…no, I don't."

"I figured. Sorry for the jump. I didn't either, until I met my fiancée. I think that it's hard to know as much as we do about society's flaws and unspoken regulations and the statistics of successful marriages to be willing to commit. I completely understand your situation. I just happened to change my mind."

Brennan smiled. "It's good to know I'm not the only one. Booth thinks I'm strange for thinking what I do. "

XXXXX

"Come on, Bones. It's almost dark, we don't have that much light here, and I want to get back to the hotel before it's time to head right back. Everyone else is gone." Booth began his decent down the shallow slope to where Brennan still crouched. "Come on," he urged, taking a hold of her elbow and helping her stand up. "It's time to go."

Brennan nodded in agreement, her back, knees and hips frozen from crouching for so long without a break to stand. "I guess I've done enough for one day," she sighed. As they started to walk back up to the jeep, Brennan began telling Booth about the various grotesque things she and Dr. Kantar had found.

"What is it with her?" Booth asked suddenly when Brennan mentioned something Kantar said.

"Dr. Kantar?"

"Yeah," Booth nodded.

"From what I've seen, she's very friendly. Why, did she say something to you?"

"Nah," Booth said. "She just seems…different than either you or Stires. It's like…well, it's like she's a real person, you know? She doesn't get really into the bones like you do. I saw her chatting your ear off instead of concentrating earlier. I just wondered if there was something more to that."

"She's very talkative, I must admit," Brennan said as they climbed into the jeep. "But she's no more a real person than I am, Booth."

"No, Bones, I didn't mean it like that. You know that I know you're a real person." Booth looked over to his partner before starting the car. Brennan was looking off to the other side, away from him. "Bones…"

"What are you gong to do when Michael gets here?" she asked, changing the subject, but seemingly over it.

Booth thought for a few seconds as he began to drive. "I don't know."

"Because I don't want to talk to him. I don't even want to see him."

"Well, that might be kind of hard seeing as you'll be playing on the same mass grave playground." Booth looked over again. This time she looked straight ahead, obviously thinking. "But I'll do what I can, okay?"

Brennan looked at him and smiled. She knew he'd take care of her any way he could. Brennan now knew that it was a good thing Booth had come with her, even if it was only so she could easily avoid her ex-lover. Booth felt her looking at him still, and smiled at her.

Suddenly, Brennan froze. For a split second, she couldn't move, think, talk.

"Booth!" she finally screamed.

But her warning came too late.

* * *

_Please let me know if you like it so far, and any thoughts you might have. It really helps. Thanks! - JF_


	5. She's Not My Girl

_I'd like to thank everyone. Readers, reviewers, all of you. What I hope you gain from this story makes what I do worthwhile. Thank you. –JF_

_In case the flashbacks are confusing anyone, they go back to where the story could have begun. They are going in the order in which they happened, telling the pivotal events our beloved characters have endured through their memories. Now, on to the story._

_Disclaimer: It'd be nice, wouldn't it?

* * *

_

**Chapter 4 – She's Not My Girl**

Booth blamed himself. Why wouldn't he?

After all he had promised her—promised himself—he was unable to keep her happy. She never said anything, but Booth could see that her smiles were never as full as they used to be; they were rare, even. Brennan always wanted Booth to know that she didn't blame him, and that she knew that he had done everything he could for her.

But still…he should have been watching the road all those months ago. He should have been able to avoid what they had gotten themselves into.

Booth knew it was a thing of the past, and had to remind himself once again that he couldn't change any of it. Not now. What was done was done, and they had been lucky to get out with their lives. Now, the best thing Booth could do for Bones was to keep walking and bring back the supplies she'd need for her leg.

Since part of their new identity was that they had decided to stay in Calcutta to help in the hospitals and on the streets with the sick, many of the workers at the hospital know who Booth was. Or at least, they knew who Weston Moore was.

"Mr. Moore!" a British accented voice called from behind him.

Booth turned to see Rajan, a talented and friendly male nurse who was Tazara and Weston's main connection to the hospital. "Rajan, my man! How's everything?"

"Ah, my wife…" Rajan sighed with a shake of his head.

Booth laughed. "Women, right? Can't live with 'em—"

"Can't live without them," Rajan finished. "Speaking of which, where's your princess?"

Booth smiled. The people of Calcutta who had befriended Tazara and Weston had all taken to calling Tazara "princess". Brennan seemed to think it was because it meant "elegance" in Arabic, but when Booth had asked Rajan why he and some others called her that, he said it was because they all thought she was so fair and beautiful that she looked like she belonged in castle, not on the streets of Calcutta. _So true_, Booth thought.

"Actually, Tazara is the reason I'm here. Last night she took a nasty fall and cut herself pretty bad," Booth lied. "She can't walk very well, so I made her stay back at the hotel."

"You want supplies to fight infection then, no?" Rajan asked.

"That's the idea," Booth said. "She gave me a list of things she might need."

Rajan took the list, scanning over it. "Smart one, your princess."

"She's not mine," Booth sighed, saying it for the thousandth time. "Never has been."

Rajan laughed. "I'm telling you, I don't know how you manage to live with her, spend every moment of every day with her, and have that much restraint. You're a strong man, Mr. Moore. A strong man."

"Thanks, man. I try," Booth said with a smile. "Now how about Tazara's list?"

"Five minutes," Rajan said and walked away.

Six and half minutes later, Rajan returned with a full plastic sack and a pair of crutches. He handed them to Booth. "For the princess," he said. Booth began to dig in his pocket for some money, as he kept the Rupee equivalent of 20 dollars in his pocket. But Rajan stopped him. "No, Mr. Moore. I said it's for the princess. It's a gift from me, from the hospital. As a thank you for all the good the two of you do around here. Please don't pay," Rajan urged him with a certain pleading look that one would never receive from an American.

"Alright," Booth said, willing to accept the great kindness. With no real jobs or any way for them to access their generous bank accounts, donations had to be accepted for the two of them to not become one with the poor on the streets they spent their time treating.

XXXXX

"Bones, I got your things," Booth called as he closed the door to their room behind him with his foot. "Bones?" he asked, having received no reply. When he turned into the main part of the room, Brennan stood with her back facing him, just finishing pulling on a long sleeved shirt.

As she did so, Booth caught a glimpse of the deep scar that graced her lower back and felt a pang of guilt. Though he had scars of his own, the crimson shade of Brennan's screamed that it was much deeper and more painful than any he carried.

Brennan turned to face him and offered up a half smile. Booth couldn't look past the pain he always saw there.

He blamed himself.

* * *

_Nineteen months earlier, Calcutta, India_

Battered, bruised, and bloody, Booth and Brennan kneeled on the side of the empty road with their hands duct taped behind their backs, a personal gunman standing behind each of them, just waiting for the order to shoot.

The jeep laid on its side only a few yards away, mangled and splattered with what Booth knew was Brennan's blood. Booth himself had managed to be dragged out of the jeep with only a few scratches and a bloody nose, but he knew his partner was an entirely different story.

As he looked over, Booth's instinct to protect her took over him and it was driving him crazy that he couldn't hold her and make sure she was alright, make sure she wasn't in too much pain. Now, all he could do was look at her, watch her brows knit together in what Booth assumed was concentration on not crying out, not breaking down under the pain and pressure. She bled from various cuts, but Booth knew that he couldn't see the worst of the damage.

"Names," the man who stood in front of them ordered in a thick Indian accent. Neither Booth nor Brennan responded. "Names," he ordered again, this time a bit louder. They remained silent.

A different man came forward and knelt in front of Booth, grabbing what little hair he could, jerking Booth's head back to look him in the face. When he spoke, he carried a surprisingly thick British accent. "Tell us your names or die, stupid foreigners."

Booth still said nothing, but looked at the man with a certain defiance in his eyes that clearly said "go to hell".

The man with the British accent, very frustrated, sharply brought his knee to Booth's face, forcing Booth's head down to meet it halfway. The force of his knee, however, was much stronger than that of his hand, and Booth fell back and ended up seeing the beautiful and out of place starry night sky. His hands still bound behind him made it a very uncomfortable place to be.

"Do you want to die, you stupid bastard?" the one with the Indian accent yelled. "Names!"

The third and younger man, who had remained silent up until then, came forward and grabbed Booth's collar, forcing him back on his knees. The new guy forced Booth's head in Brennan's direction while he shouted something in Hindi at the other two. They caught on, smiling devilishly and turning their attention towards Booth's only weak point.

_They wouldn't._

Oh, but they would.

The man with the British accent shoved Brennan off balance, and without a way to catch herself or even and attempt to do so, her face soon reached the packed dirt ground in front of her with a crack. And to Booth's dismay, she remained conscious.

Her icy blue eyes locked with his as the five men standing above them laughed. She looked at him with a certain sadness, as if she thought this was the end. As if she thought that somehow this was her fault.

Booth just shook his head and looked away, unable to speak. He couldn't bring himself to look at his partner any longer, her gaze boring into his eyes when he did. He knew what they would do to her. He had done it a few times himself when he was in the army: find the prisoner's weak point and use it against them to get answers. He knew the third man must have assumed Brennan was his girlfriend or wife and that seeing her in pain would make Booth tell them everything.

Well, he was half right.

The younger man stepped on Brennan's back with a force that made her yelp in pain. A thick trickle of blood ran from the base of her back and down the exposed part of her side. The man was intentionally stepping on one of her worse cuts. Damn him.

The one with the Indian accent stepped up to Brennan as well, deciding to help get something out of Booth. He brought his foot back in preparation for a hard kick, and Booth winced in anticipation, unwilling to watch.

But when he heard the definite crack of one of his partner's ribs and the sound of her gasping in pain, Booth broke.

"Stop! Stop! Don't hurt her…stop…" Booth cried out.

The man with the British accent also kicked Brennan in the side, wanting to take part, before he turned to Booth. "Alright then," he said to Booth with a smile. "Tell us your names."

Booth stole another glance at Brennan, who had brought her knees up to her chest and was now shaking in pain a few feet away from him. "I'm…I'm Seeley Booth. Special Agent Seeley Booth. I'm with the FBI."

"If you're expecting to scare us, you don't have any jurisdiction here,_ Agent,_" the man mocked, laughing. "And what about your girlfriend? Does she have a name?"

"She's…she's not my girlfriend. She's Doctor Temperance Brennan. She's a forensic anthropologist who came here to help identify the remains found about a mile and a half from here, the mass grave that is thought to be the missing Americans." Booth didn't know why he told them everything, but his instincts for self preservation had taken over.

Brennan had opened her eyes to look at Booth when he had said her name, and was now nodding, letting him know that it was okay for them to know. This was how she felt it should play out.

Before, Booth hadn't been able to look at his partner for too long, but now he felt that he couldn't look away, not even when the man spoke again after asking the youngest man something in Hindi.

"The doctor, is she American, too?" he asked.

When Booth nodded, the five men congregated behind them, speaking in Hindi.

Booth then began to inch himself closer to his partner, wanting to assure her they'd be okay, and wanting to see the kind of damage the many flips they'd taken in the car and being kicked so hard had done.

"Bones…can you hear me?" he whispered. When she nodded, her eyes now tightly shut again, he inched a bit closer. "How many ribs?" he asked, knowing at least one was cracked from the multiple kicks she'd taken.

"Three," she whispered back, her voice taught with pain.

"Anything worse?"

"My back…I can't feel much, but it hurts…" she whimpered, making Booth's heart ache with a longing to protect her.

Booth shushed her as there was a lull in the conversation behind them. When it picked back up, Booth could think of nothing convincing or meaningful to tell her. He knew he would be lying.

"Stay strong, Bones."

All she could do was nod as they were seized by the backs of their collars and forced into the back of the van the men drove. The two gunmen faced the pair as the other three sat up front, still arguing in Hindi.

Brennan began to freely sob, now at the end of how much she could take as they started up the van and began to drive.

They didn't know where they were going, who these men were, and couldn't even be sure how much longer they were going to be kept alive. Everything was happening so fast, and it was hard for Booth to take everything in and assess his and Brennan's situation.

All he could think about was that Brennan was in pain, and he could do nothing to help her.

Booth blamed himself. Why wouldn't he?

* * *

_Please review! It's so helpful to know what you think as I write. Thanks. -JF_


	6. Failed Protector

_Disclaimer: For Christmas, my mom told me to pick between _Bones_ and a new cell phone (I've broken 3, and now they refuse to give me new ones for free). Sorry, BB fans, but I picked the cell phone._

_A longer chapter for taking a little bit longer than I had originally planned. It's more like two chapters in one.__ Please enjoy. –JF

* * *

_

**Chapter 5 – Failed Protector**

Angela's only goal was to get to her office. She didn't really care how she got there, nor did she really care who thought she was the worst driver or most oblivious pedestrian. She just wanted to get there.

For the first few months after the news of Booth and Brennan's death came to Washington D.C. Angela had stayed in this same "screw the world" state of mind. Now, with time having passed, it was only when she looked at the file or thought about her lost friends for an extended period of time that this attitude came about.

Hodgins happened to see her as she walked down the hallway of the Jeffersonian, and noticed the mood she was in. He knew the mood, as it had been something he had to deal with day after day when Angela would come home to where she lived with him and Hodgins would have to be the one to bring her back to reality. Most people had learned to steer clear of this mood, but Jack knew it wasn't so scary after all. So he followed her into her office.

Angela sat at her desk, finishing up something on her computer. Jack stood in the doorway, watching her. Without looking up, though, Angela acknowledged his presence.

"What," she demanded.

"It doesn't help anything, you know," Hodgins said in answer.

Angela now looked up. "What are you talking about?"

"This…mood you get into. It doesn't solve anything. It doesn't bring them back."

Angela kept a hold of his gaze, a certain anger flashing in her eyes. "My moods are none of your business. We're not together anymore. You don't have some sort of…duty to keep an eye out for me, Hodgins."

"You remind us of Doctor Brennan," he said simply, trying to get her to understand why this mood wasn't healthy for her to be in.

"How could I possibly do that? I'm nothing like she was. Nowhere near."

Hodgins shook his head. "You didn't used to be, Angela, but with every passing day you become more and more like she was when we all first met her. Cold, distant, afraid. Brennan was abandoned by her family, and now she's abandoned you. She left everything to you and Russ. That must be hard."

"What are you trying to say, Jack? You keep talking, but you've said this all before."

Hodgins sighed. The new Angela was so hard to deal with sometimes. "What I'm trying to say is stop. Stop detaching yourself from the fun-loving ball of sunshine you used to be. Brennan and Booth getting murdered hurt us all. Deep. But we've moved on, Angela. We had the choice to succumb to despair and all it brings, or to embrace it and make this tragedy something we can learn from, grow from. I don't know why you chose the former, but it hurts us all to see you like this. It's been hurting for a year and a half, and until you embrace it and make it your own, it's never going to get any easier."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away.

Angela sighed. _Whatever.

* * *

_

_Nineteen months earlier, Jeffersonian Institute_

"Angela?" Hodgins asked, poking his head into his girlfriend's office. He was greeted with a smile as she looked over her computer screen. "Dr. Goodman wants to see you."

Angela stood. "What about?" she asked. Ever since Cam had become their boss it was rare that Goodman wanted to speak to them directly. Usually he just did it through Cam. "Why doesn't he just talk to Cam instead?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know. He said it was important."

XXXXX

Before she even walked far enough into Dr. Goodman's office to see the administrator, Angela started to talk. "Dr. Goodman, I don't see what would be so important that it can't go through Dr. Saroyan. I mean, not that I mind, I just thought—"

Angela stopped short when she finally looked at Dr. Goodman, who sat behind his desk with a serious look on his face. "Miss Montenegro, please sit."

She did as she was told. "Is something wrong, Dr. Goodman?"

"Quite possibly. The reason I wanted to speak to you instead of Dr. Saroyan is because I thought you should be the first to know. I wouldn't want you to hear this through someone else, especially not Dr. Saroyan."

Angela was beginning to get nervous. "What? Did something happen to Brennan?"

Dr. Goodman nodded gravely.

Though she hadn't even heard how bad it was, tears began to well up in Angela's eyes, and she tried to choke them down. _Stop it,_ she told herself, _Bren is probably fine, she's done this before._ "What happened?" she finally asked.

"Miss Montenegro, were you aware that Agent Booth accompanied Dr. Brennan to India?"

Angela nodded, remembering that she had been so excited.

"It seems that the two of them showed up at the site of the mass grave in Calcutta two days ago. Knowing Dr. Brennan, it isn't a surprise that they stayed later than anyone else working the site." Dr. Goodman paused, looked at Angela again, and continued. "Yesterday they didn't show up, and couldn't be reached."

"Oh god…"

"The jeep that was loaned out to Dr. Brennan was found mangled on the side of the road that led from the site to the hotel in which they were staying, with Dr. Brennan's equipment and Agent Booth's badge and gun still inside."

"Mangled?" Angela asked for clarification, almost afraid of the answer.

"It seems…" Dr. Goodman cleared his throat. "It seems they were hit by something, probably another car, and they drove off the road, flipping at least twice."

A single tear refused to obey, and slid down Angela's cheek.

But Dr. Goodman continued. "There was blood in the jeep, not surprisingly. I asked that the samples be sent here, because I wanted to make sure this was done right, and we have both Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth's DNA on record."

"He promised me he'd take care of her…" Angela whispered, more than a bit shell shocked.

"Miss Montenegro, there was not nearly enough blood found in the car to suggest that the accident harmed either one of them severely, and definitely not fatally," Dr. Goodman said, undoubtedly only telling Angela such things to make her calm down and stop worrying. "There are teams of trained professionals looking for them as we speak. They'll find them."

"If they're not already dead," Angela stated bluntly, standing up and turning to leave. "Thank you, Dr. Goodman, for not making me hear this from Cam."

"Of course."

XXXXX

Hodgins sat, looking into a microscope when Angela came up the platform.

"Jack…"

Her tone of voice made Hodgins look up with a worried look on his face. "What? What's wrong? What did Goodman talk to you about?"

"Take me home," she said, ignoring his questions for now.

Knowing to ask no further questions, Hodgins stripped off his lab coat and grabbed his satchel and was out the door with his arm around Angela within thirty seconds. "My house?" he asked as they passed through the sliding glass doors of the lab.

"Yes, please."

The car ride was filled with silence. Angela obviously had something on her mind, and Hodgins desperately wanted to know what it was, but didn't speak because he knew she'd tell him when she wanted to. He'd never ask her about something that made her so upset before he knew she was ready to talk about it.

Once Angela was situated on Jack's couch with a glass of wine in hand and him sitting next to her, she finally decided to tell him. "Jack…what Goodman talked to me about…"

Hodgins sat, looking at her intently, giving her all of his attention, waiting for her to be ready to talk, knowing this could not be good.

"Booth and Brennan…disappeared. They've been missing for two days, and their jeep was found with blood in it, and it looked like it had taken a few flips. The people there looking for them haven't been able to reach them, and all their things, like Brennan's equipment, Booth's gun, were still in the jeep."

"Oh god…" Hodgins said, leaning back.

"Yeah," Angela said with a small laugh, as if she still didn't believe it. "That's what I said."

"Do they know whose blood it is?"

"Not yet. They're going to send samples to the Jeffersonian since we have Booth and Bren's DNA on record."

"Do you know how much there was?" Hodgins asked, trying to get a sense of how bad this could turn out to be and how fast it would progress into a nightmare.

"Goodman said there wasn't enough to suggest either of them was severely wounded."

"Well, that's…good, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess so." Tears were once again welling up in the artist's eyes, even though she was noticeably trying to suppress them. "I'm just really worried about them…"

"Come here, Angela," Hodgins said, bringing Angela into his arms. It was then that she began to sniff a bit, and after a few seconds began to full out sob. And he had no idea what to tell her. _Everything's going to be okay?_ He didn't know that. _I'm here for you?_ She already knew that. _Don't worry?_ He'd be insane to tell her that. Of course she was going to worry, and with good reason.

Hodgins opted for silence.

* * *

_Also nineteen months earlier, Place unknown, India_

Booth woke up with a pounding headache. Had he passed out in the van? God, he felt like he had a hangover. Where was Brennan? The floor was dirt. It was dark. Night, or no windows? Booth hoped for night. Where was Brennan? His gun was in the jeep. Damn. His hands weren't duct taped behind his back anymore. That was good. The blood from his nose had dried all over the lower half of his face. At least it wasn't bleeding anymore. Where the hell was Brennan?

"Bones?" he asked into the darkness. He sat up on his knees, looking around the darkness for something, anything that might tell him where his partner was. "Bones?" he called again, feeling around for an indicator of how much space he had to search. When his hands came into contact with a few cool metal bars, Booth sighed. _Great, a cell._ He could only pray that Brennan was thrown into the same one he had.

A groan came from only a short ways away to Booth's right. "Booth…" he heard.

"Bones!" he said once more, crawling on his hands and knees to the source of the small sound. Finally, his hand came in contact with the clammy skin of her outstretched arm. He firmly grasped her hand and pulled himself closer. "Temperance, are you alright?"

Brennan moaned something barely audible and unclear. Booth continued to feel his way up her arm until he reached her shoulders, then put his hands behind her neck and brought his knees under her head. With the little bit that his eyes had adjusted, Booth could see that Brennan's brows were knitted together, and her eyes were tightly shut.

"Where…where are we?" Brennan whispered.

Booth shook his head, not that she could see it. "I don't know. In some kind of jail cell."

"How long?" she managed.

"I'm not sure," Booth whispered, brushing Brennan's hair away from her face. "I don't think very long. How's your back?"

"I…I don't know. My sides…they kicked me, didn't they?" Brennan asked softly, almost in disbelief.

"Yeah. I think you have a few broken ribs. It's that cut on your back that I'm worried about, Bones. Where is it? I need to look at it."

Brennan nodded, and began to sit up, but with great difficulty. Booth realized and sympathized with how much such an action was hurting her, so he helped her, although surprised by the fact that she let him.

Once she was sitting up, Booth positioned himself behind her and swallowed hard before slowly lifting up the back of her shirt. He heard a sharp intake of breath from her and smiled the tiniest bit. "Sorry," he muttered, continuing to roll up her shirt. From the waistband of her jeans up to the bottom of her ribcage was covered in so much trickling and smeared blood that it was hard to tell where exactly the cut was in the darkness.

"I'm so sorry, Bones," he whispered in advance.

"What? What're you doing?" she asked, confused, but stopped talking when she realized what he was apologizing for.

Booth was feeling, with both hands starting at the waistband of her jeans, for the gash. His touch was light but purposeful, and then painful when he finally found the source of all the blood.

"Holy shit!" she gasped when his fingers seemed to dig into her wound.

"Holy shit," he echoed when he followed the gash all the way across the bottom of her ribcage, finally finding a piece of metal embedded there.

"What? What'd you find?" Brennan asked, a little annoyed that all she could do was ask questions. She hated not having answers, not being the one in power.

"It looks like a piece of metal. Like from when they pulled you out of the car a piece of the door or window frame caught your back. It's the best I can tell right now. God, we need light," Booth answered.

"Booth…do you see any bubbles?"

"What? Bubbles? Where?"

"In the cut, Booth. Bubbles in the cut," she snapped.

Booth leaned down, almost getting Brennan's blood on his nose from looking so closely at the gash. "No, I don't see bubbles. Why? What would that mean?"

"If there were bubbles, that would mean that it was a sucking chest wound," she explained, her speech slow and choppy as she paused to breathe.

"Hmm. You know Bones, in my book, all chest wounds suck."

"Booth…now is not the time. A sucking chest wound could lead to a collapsed lung, and we don't have the supplies to treat that."

"Then…it's good you don't have that."

"I could get it."

"Just by sitting there?"

"If they kick me again, it's highly possible," Brennan said, shifting her weight to sit farther up.

"Then I won't let—"

Booth was not able to finish his promise, because the creaking of an opening cell door interrupted him, along with the sound of footsteps, followed by a blinding single beam of light. "Americans," the familiar British voice barked. "Where was the mass grave?"

"We don't know," Booth said.

"Liars!" the voice yelled.

Booth squinted at the light from the flashlight, but he was able to see the outline of the man from before. He saw the figure move towards his partner, and realized the man was going to use the same method as before to get him to talk. Why choose a new method if the old one worked? Why do something else when hurting the girl made the guy spill every little detail of what they wanted to know?

"Fine, stupid American, the hard way it is," the man said, the grin on this face showing through his voice. He brought his leg back to kick the already wounded woman.

"No! Don't, please," Booth begged, intending to keep his unsaid promise. "We couldn't tell you where the mass grave is because we were escorted there and finding our way back to the hotel was just going to be guess work, following the road. We don't know where it is," Booth stressed.

The man's foot came down on Brennan anyway, landing its mark and getting a yelp of pain from the good doctor. Then he simply turned and left, muttering under his breath. "_Goddamn useless Americans, I don't know why we keep them alive._"

Once he was gone, Booth turned his attention to Brennan, who was once again on the floor, this time face down. But now she was gasping for air.

Remembering what she had said about if she got kicked again, Booth didn't hesitate to roll up her shirt and check the gash for air bubbles

Booth sighed in relief when he looked, and everything was as it had been before. "No, you're fine, Bones. No bubbles."

Brennan also sighed in the same relief, but as she took a deep breath, a few tiny pockets of air came to the surface of her wound.

"Oh, damn," Booth said.

* * *

_The present, Calcutta, India_

"Booth? Are you alright?" Brennan asked, sitting on the bed and moving her head so that her eyes met his blank stare over her shoulder. "You kind of spaced out."

Booth smiled at her, shaking his head. "Sorry," he said, holding the plastic sack full of medical supplies out in front of him.

Brennan took the sack, but still looked at Booth. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Sighing, Booth sat down. "Yeah. I was just…thinking about that scar on your back, and about how you're always the one getting hurt. And I'm sorry. That's not how it should be."

Brennan set the sack down on the floor next to her and turned to her partner, placing her hands on his. "Booth, I'd be dead if it weren't for you. I'd be dead a couple of times, actually." Booth smiled, knowing it was true. Brennan continued. "It is _not _your fault that I get myself in these situations by trying to do things myself. You've saved me a hundred times more than you've failed to fully protect me, Booth. And it's for that which I'm grateful."

He looked at her for a moment and held her gaze. "It doesn't mean I can't feel guilty."

She nodded with a slight laugh. "You could, true, but you would be wasting your time. For now, help me with this leg. The last thing I need right now is another infection."

The deafening gunshots came from the street just outside, and caused each to look at the other in fear. This was supposed to be the peaceful part of town. But the ear-splitting shots continued, and voices began to demand for the dead Americans to show their faces.

"Get down!" Booth ordered Brennan. She obeyed, rolling off the bed and getting face-to-face with the dirt floor.

Booth took out his well-hidden gun, and for a moment Brennan thought he was going to go out there. She was about to yell for him to stop being such an alpha male and get down, but Booth sat himself next to Brennan, shielding her behind the bed in the farthest place from the door they could manage.

Brennan looked at Booth, looking for something, anything to get a feeling for what was going through his head. She saw nothing.

"Well, it looks like they found us," he whispered.

* * *

_Sorry to leave you there, but I think this chapter is long enough already. Please let me know what you think, as it really helps me along. And if you think that having 4 sections instead of 2 is confusing, or if you like the longer chapters, I'd like to know your thoughts on that as well. Thanks! -JF_


	7. Reopened

_Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit. _

_Words cannot express how incredibly lazy I've been. Finding inspiration has been difficult during this dry spell of _Bones_-ness (Stupid American Idol). Sorry it's taken so long. A special thanks to my wonderful reviewers. Please enjoy. - JF

* * *

_

**Chapter 6 – Reopened**

_The present, Russ Brennan's apartment_

"_In international news, shots erupted in the streets of Calcutta, India, early this morning in the quiet part of the city. Witnesses claim that the notorious, nameless street gang of Calcutta began firing shots into the air and through the walls of an old nearby hotel, demanding for "the dead Americans". The demand rose international attention because of the questionable deaths of renowned author and forensic anthropologist Doctor Temperance Brennan and her FBI partner Special Agent Seeley Booth a year and a half ago. Doctor Brennan and Agent Booth had been looking into the deaths of a group of American college students who disappeared outside of Calcutta eight years ago when they were reported missing, then dead six weeks later. The FBI claims that Doctor Brennan and Agent Booth were great assets to the Bureau, and because of the street gang's demand, their case has been reopened."_

Russ turned off the TV when the Barbie look-a-like anchorwoman moved on to other news. When Tempe and Booth had been reported dead, the media had a field day, and Russ had gotten used to hearing about his sister's death from people who knew nothing about it. Of course they would report on it. Tempe was famous, and Booth was FBI. Russ guessed that the upside to such reports was that he would never have to work again, as Temperance's book sales had skyrocketed and she had left her money and anything her books earned to him.

Picking up the phone, he dialed Angela. He guessed he should make sure she knew the Bureau was opening the case back up.

"Montenegro," she answered.

"Hey, Angela, it's Russ."

"Hey there."

"Um, did you see the news?"

Russ heard her sigh on the other end. "Zack just told me. They're reopening the case. Thanks for calling and making sure I knew. Was that all?"

"Yeah, that was it," Russ said, but thought twice. "Would you like to get a drink after work?"

"I could use a few margaritas, yeah," Angela answered with an audible weariness.

"Great, I'll pick you up at seven."

XXXXX

_Jeffersonian Institute_

"Hodgins," Dr. Addy called from the doorway of the entomologist's office. When Hodgins looked up, Zack wore a bewildered expression. "The FBI reopened Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth's case; I just thought you should know."

Hodgins let out a sigh, puffing out his cheeks and releasing the air slowly. "Does Angela know?"

"I just told her."

"Do we know why they reopened it?" he asked, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"There's a suspicion that…" Zack paused, unsure of what to say. "They might still be alive…or there was something about they're deaths that was mistaken," he finished quietly, looking down at his feet.

"God, this isn't happening…They're going to interrogate us again, aren't they?"

"They'll most likely assign new and better agents to the case, and there's a high probability that they'll end up disregarding everything that was done previously. The new agents will redo everything."

"_Bureaucratic nonsense_," Hodgins huffed under his breath. "We saw pictures, we've read the file. We've torn it apart, and found nothing wrong with it. We are the best in the country, and they're _redoing_ the investigation," he spat out angrily.

"Hodgins, there's a slight chance that Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth might not be dead. It seems to me that if there's just that small possibility, then we should help in any way we can to make sure." At Hodgins' glare, Dr. Addy continued. "I believe they're dead, Hodgins. It's the rational explanation. But that doesn't mean I can't hope the world has been wrong. It doesn't mean I can't hope we missed something important."

And with that, the young doctor turned and left.

Hodgins sighed again. Their team had vowed to stay together after they found out about Booth and Brennan, but now, at the chance they might not be dead…now they were going to break apart. He could just feel it in the air. The only problem was, he was pretty sure he was going to be the first to falter. And he hated it.

XXXXX

Zack retreated to his office after telling his colleagues about the FBI reopening the case. He let his legs buckle beneath him, and landed in his chair behind his desk. Leaning his head back, he gave off the millionth sigh of the day, exhausted by the thought of revisiting all that had happened a year and a half ago. Though he was not looking forward to it, he knew how he would deal with it.

He had known how to handle the situation when it came about all those months ago as well, as he had remembered what his old mentor had told him about putting his heart in a box when things struck too close to home. He had done just that, but had been accused of giving off an uncaring air whenever the subject of Booth and Brennan came up. Angela had always done the accusing, so Zack tried his best to stay out of conversations about his old boss and her partner when Angela was involved. And she was getting less and less pleasant and harder and harder to avoid as the months went by.

Dr. Zack Addy always tried to think of Dr. Brennan in the most positive way he could, and never focused too long on the event of her death. He had seen the pictures and had treated it like he had any other case, focusing on the details. To him, her death was not the death of his mentor. It was the death of an unfortunate victim of an angry street gang. Dr. Brennan was not killed, but instead she was simply not coming back. Everything she had taught him, everything she had ever said, lived on. And it was that on which he focused.

What he had told Hodgins was true. He believed that Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth were dead. He had seen the evidence and the case file, expertly organized and complete. Initially, Zack had not wanted to believe it was true—none of them had—and had torn the file apart, looking for something, anything that was wrong. He hadn't found anything, and after a few months, accepted the fact that they weren't coming back.

A knock on the frame of the door to his office tore Zack away from his thoughts. He raised his eyes from where they were glued to his desk, meeting those of Dr. Brennan's replacement at the Jeffersonian. "Dr. Blanche," he greeted, standing up like the gentleman he had learned to be.

"Good evening, Dr. Addy," Dr. Blanche said timidly. "And please, it's Allison."

Zack nodded, but said nothing. He had no intention on making friends with this woman, and had no intention of calling her anything but Dr. Blanche.

At his silence, Dr. Blanche shifted her weight to her other foot. "I came to ask for your second opinion on these files. If you have time…I'd appreciate your expertise." She handed Zack the few files she had, and he sat down with them, opening each one in turn.

"You've been identifying John and Jane Does from Limbo?" Zack asked, looking up at his new colleague with a confused expression.

Dr. Blanch looked down, seemingly unsure of herself. "I was told that the FBI would be giving us cases, but since there hasn't been such an event yet, I thought I might as well make myself useful."

Zack leaned forward, placing his elbows on his desk. "In ten years, just over fifty sets of remains from Limbo have been positively ID'd and sent home. That's approximately five a year. You've been here three days and you've finished six." Zack couldn't help it if he sounded a little bitter, as he was so used to being the overachiever. But now he had some competition.

"I believe the skill I've been given should be used for as much as I can bear. I don't think sitting around and getting used to the Jeffersonian is going to do much for the people in bone storage, or 'Limbo' as you call it. I felt I had nothing better to do with my time." Seeing Zack's expression, Dr. Blanche began to back out of his office. "I'm sorry if I've overstepped my bounds. I can be a bit of a highflyer sometimes."

When she was gone, Zack sighed…again. He guessed he wasn't as appreciative as he could have been. But in his mind, John and Jane Does were what he and Dr. Brennan did when there were no other cases. It was what didn't require much more than just the two of them. And he missed that. He understood that Dr. Blanche was just trying to help. He knew it was irrational to feel like she was invading the lab. She worked there now. It was her lab, too.

Zack looked back down at the files. He supposed the best thing he could do for Dr. Blanche would be to confirm these identities. But he would not do it happily. It was almost as if that was the only sense of control he had left.

* * *

_Nineteen months earlier, Place unknown, India_

"Bones?" Booth asked as she inhaled and the wound itself made a slight hissing sound. "Bones…I see bubbles now…and hissing…" his voice was getting quieter and slightly more panicked as he kept talking. He finally reached just below the point of babbling as Brennan tried to remember back to when she learned how to treat a wound like her own.

"I need…something airtight…duct tape, foil, cellophane…" she managed.

"Airtight? Bones, there's nothing but us in here."

Brennan thought for a minute, then shifted her hips so that she could reach her pocket. When the effort was too much, she let her arm go limp. "Booth, in my pocket there's an evidence bag. Use that."

Booth moved to her side and fished in her pocket for the evidence bag she had thankfully forgotten to put in her other bag. "What do you want me to do with what's in here?" he asked, feeling a few small lumps between the sheets of plastic.

"They're teeth…canines that were detached from a skull…put them in your pocket."

He did as she said and then remembered something when he looked at the evidence bag. He knew this from back in his army days, the required training, but it had been so long… "Bones, I think I remember this, the sucking chest wound thing."

She only grunted in response, her entire body beginning to go limp.

"Bones, stay with me. Please, stay here with me," he nearly begged.

"Tell me…what you know."

"Tape or hold three sides down, right? So that air can get out but not in?"

"Yeah. That's enough for now, do it."

Booth wasted no more time in placing the plastic on her back, using both hands to hold three of the four sides to her bloody skin. The tear in her chest cavity wasn't as big as the ones he had seen in the army training course, so not as much air was getting in and it wasn't as serious as it could have been. But eventually, she'd need medical attention. Preferably sooner than later.

He shifted his weight so he now sat next to Bones, by her head, and he encouraged her to use his legs as a pillow. She accepted the little comfort he had to offer, but then lay silent. When Booth's legs promptly fell asleep, he tried shifting his weight such a miniscule amount so that he wouldn't disturb her, but his efforts were in vain. He had been distracted for a split second and had moved the plastic on her back the tiniest bit.

She hissed in pain, and guilt flooded him. "Sorry," he muttered. He could feel the wound beginning to bleed anew and felt the warm blood getting on his palms and in between his fingers. He sighed in disgust with himself at the now terribly literal idiom.

Now her blood was on his hands.

XXXXX

_Ten miles outside of Calcutta, India_

Dr. Marie Kantar sat on a rock above the site, looking down at the work that had been done so far. Not much had happened since that first day with Dr. Brennan, since nearly everything had been put on hold to search for them. She took at deep breath and didn't exhale for quite some time as she let her mind wander to things she could do to distract herself. She'd never had anyone she knew kidnapped before, even if she had only spoke with Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth for a short amount of time.

It was disturbing to know that while she dug up people who died seven years ago, two people she knew were on their way to having to be dug up later, and Marie Kantar knew of nothing she could do.

She looked down at her left hand, the beautiful ring gracing her slender finger. She couldn't wait to get back to her fiancée, back in America where these situations didn't feel nearly as hopeless. But as Kantar sat there, staring at the ring that symbolized so much that was to come, she couldn't help but be thankful that it wasn't her who had been kidnapped.

She instantly felt guilty, and knew she had to do something, if only for her conscience's sake.

XXXXX

_Place unknown, India_

"Americans!" one of the men yelled, jerking Booth to attention. "What was all the ruckus?"

"My partner, she's hurt very badly. She needs to get to a hospital," Booth pleaded, the labored breathing of the woman beside him never filtered from his mind.

He heard the jingle of keys and the creak of the gate opening. Booth sighed in relief. Maybe they weren't _all_ bastards.

The flashlight stung Booth's eyes at first as the man looked at the damage done to Brennan's back. "It's a sucking chest wound. She could get a collapsed lung," Booth explained as the man looked closer. After apparently finishing, the man turned the flashlight to Booth's face. The light was almost blinding.

Suddenly, the man's face was very close to Booth's, so close he could smell the teeth rotting in the man's mouth. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't let her die," the man ordered slowly.

Booth could do nothing but beg. "Please, she hasn't done anything."

The man never backed away. "That seems a lot to me like a reason contradictory to what you want, American."

"She knows a lot more than I do. She might have information I don't know about. The mass grave. I never saw what was there. She did. You let her die and that information dies with her."

"So I can just kill you then? Since you know nothing?"

Booth swallowed hard. "I can guarantee you that if you kill me she'll never talk."

"And if I've been given orders to only keep one of you alive?" the man asked, getting even closer to Booth's face.

"Then kill me," Booth said, as if daring him to try.

The man laughed and sat back. "I'm not authorized to kill you, unfortunately, but I'll be sure to tell one of my superiors that you're willing."

"Please," Booth asked one last time. "Please just help her."

Again, the man was in his face. "No."

Then he was gone, and they were once again left in the dark. Together, but alone.

* * *

_Good? Bad? Boring? Ugly? Please let me know what you think! I'll try to have chapter 8 up sooner. _Bones_ comes back next week. I hope to get back in the groove then. Thanks. -JF_


	8. Fire and Ice

_Please, please forgive me for being so awful. It's been a year and a half (which, ironically, is the time gap in the story…) since I last updated and I feel awful about it. But I went back and read the encouraging and sometimes pleading words of my lovely reviewers from a while back, and I couldn't stand that I had abandoned you all. I was honestly not going to continue this story, but somehow I managed another chapter. I promise I will finish it over the course of the summer now that I've gotten back into it. I am so, so sorry. –JF_

_Also, please remember that I started this story during the beginning of the second season. That's when this takes place._

**Chapter 7 – Fire and Ice**

_Place unknown, India, nineteen months ago_

Before Booth opened his eyes, he knew that Brennan had been taken away from him. For the short amount of time they'd been there, they had for obvious reasons stayed as close to each other as they possibly could. Bones would have called it instinct, Booth called it being scared and wanting to protect his partner. But when he felt that she wasn't by his side, he knew she wasn't there at all. He could only hope she had been taken to a doctor.

Deciding that causing a ruckus wouldn't help his situation at all, Booth managed to stay uncharacteristically mellow in his situation. While his mind was on fire, wondering where Brennan was and thinking up a million horrible things that could be happening to her while he sat in the cell and did nothing, on the outside it seemed as if the absence of his partner could even be considered a relief.

He'd give it a day. After that, he'd panic.

XXXXX

She didn't know where she was, but she knew she wasn't with Booth. It was bright. It was cold. It smelled like rubbing alcohol. She was on her stomach. The pain in her back was nonexistent. She couldn't feel her back at all. She couldn't feel anything. Or move.

"It looks pretty bad, but I've seen worse," she heard from behind her.

"Can you fix her?"

"It won't be pretty."

"Pretty won't be necessary, Doc. We just need her alive."

"It will be extremely painful, even with the anesthetic I already gave her."

"So? The pain won't kill her, will it?"

"Well, no, but she might go into shock and _that_ could kill her."

"Do what you can. We need her to talk."

The "doctor" had been right. It was excruciatingly painful, even with the "anesthetic". And no, the pain didn't kill her, but in the middle of having the muscles of her back ripped out by an amateur, Brennan almost wished it could have. It wasn't pretty. It was the most pain she'd ever felt in her life. Many times, she thought she'd lose it and felt herself slipping, but she made it. And afterwards, she could breathe. And talk. But they didn't have to know that.

"Talk. I know you can hear me, don't you dare pretend you're still asleep."

Brennan remained deathly still. It wasn't hard, seeing as it was excruciatingly painful to move in the slightest.

"God damn Americans…think they're so smart," the man whispered under his breath.

She took a deep breath. "It just hurts to talk. Or move," she explained weakly.

The nameless, faceless man was now in her face, anger radiating off his body. "Why would I care about that, huh? I saved your life. Is that not good enough for you?" he got closer with every word. "Talk!" he shouted.

"I…_can't_…" Brennan stressed.

"If you can talk enough to make excuses, you can tell us what we want to know, dirty mongrel!"

"And what?" Brennan questioned coldly, her voice now strong and angry. Angry that she was in so much pain. Angry that she had absolutely no control over the situation. Angry that he was in her face and his breath reeked of rotting flesh, like dead bodies. Angry that she didn't know where Booth was. "What then? I know your kind. I know your game. I know you won't dare set us free. We either die giving away information that will silence people who need to be heard, or die protecting that information with all the strength we possess until the very end. I know you'll kill us no matter what. So why should I talk? Why?!"

The man took a step back and laughed. "You say 'we', pretty one…" he reached out and drug a filthy finger along her jaw. "But the truth is…" he leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You couldn't be more alone." He walked from the room cackling. "You'll talk, little one…you'll talk," he assured her.

Brennan didn't hear him as he left though, frozen by the thought that Booth wasn't anywhere near her. By the prospect that he wasn't anywhere at all. Had they killed him because he had no information to give? They wouldn't have set him free; she had said that herself. Worry wreaked havoc on her mind until it went black with exhaustion.

XXXXX

The excruciating pain pulled Brennan out of unconsciousness. The feeling she had had directly after the "surgery" paled in comparison to what she felt now. The "anesthetic" had completely worn off, and what remained was the raw sting and painful pull of destroyed muscles. Brennan doubted she'd ever stand again, let alone sit up. Tears welled in her eyes. They had destroyed her.

The coldness of the table was unrealistic for the metal she thought she had been placed on. She was still on her stomach, but she knew that opening her eyes would be a bad idea, as was trying to move her head. Instead, she moved her fingers a bit, a movement she thought would be painless, to feel the surface of the table. What she felt surprised her. It was blocky sections of coldness…she could fit four squares in her hand…but the meaning of these somewhat slippery cold blocks completely escaped her.

Brennan gathered up the courage to open her eyes and see where she was. The light was blinding, all the surfaces either a bleached white or a reflective silver. She could see the metal table where the "doctor" had hacked her back to pieces. She knew that was the table because the middle section of it was covered in her blood, dried and turning a rusty-brown color. Knowing it was hers, Brennan wanted to close her eyes against the nausea, but she knew she needed to keep her eyes open and fight through the wave of pain in her stomach.

Finally, curiosity turned Brennan's eyes to the blocks of slippery coldness beneath her. They were a translucent white, and the slipperiness was because they were wet when the touched her skin. Brennan knew she should know what this was and what it meant, but her mind was slow, fogged over.

With a jolt, Brennan realized they had put her on ice. They were going to torture the information out of her. And she still couldn't move.

XXXXX

Booth had fallen into a deep sleep after countless hours of waiting for Brennan's return. He had received the usual meager meal of bread and dirty water, and had set aside more than half of it for when his partner came back. He was hungrier than he'd ever been in his life, but he refused to eat Brennan's share because she _was_ coming back.

The creak of the cell door jerked him awake with a sense of relief. Bones was back. He opened his eyes, though, to meet the same ugly, unfriendly face from the night before. The man grabbed Booth by the arm and dragged him to his feet. He was startlingly strong. From behind, someone else put a black sack of some kind over Booth's head, tied his hands behind his back, and shoved him forward.

Booth knew he had been taken outside by the ridiculous dry heat that was painful to inhale. He kept getting shoved forward and to the right, forward and to the right, until he stumbled through what felt like a doorway. The ceiling was low, though, and he had to bend down uncomfortably to fit. Booth expected to get shoved through this sort of tunnel, so he braced himself, but the next shove never came. Instead, he heard another cell door-type sound swing shut directly behind him.

Panic racked Booth's body as he felt around his prison with the backs of his arms. It was small—not even four feet wide or long. It wouldn't have been more than five feet tall either, with how he had to bend down. And it was very, very hot.

With a jolt, Booth knew why this was so familiar. They had put him in a hot box. They were going to torture the information out of him. But he had no information to give. He had told them everything.

The air inside the bag over his head got harder and harder to breathe.

XXXXX

Brennan shook with the temperature difference between her body and the air as she was shoved back to the cell where she hoped Booth waited for her. The men behind her were fuming, but had been ordered to take her off the ice after almost twenty hours of freezing silence. They kicked her and pushed her against the coarse walls in frustration, but Brennan refused to make a sound. Her jaw was clenched from the cold anyway.

The emptiness of the cell startled her. She had braced herself for his absence, but had secretly been hoping that he would be lying there in a corner, safely and soundly asleep and waiting for her to return. Now all she could see was the darkness of vacant space.

When she recovered from the shock of the empty cell, she turned to the men behind her, still trembling and struggling to unclench her jaw. "Where is Booth?" she asked, her teeth chattering together, eyes wide. "What did you do to him?"

The men only laughed and slammed the cell door behind her.

Freezing cold, lonely and terrified, Brennan stiffly curled up in the farthest corner from the door. No matter how normal or hot that cell was (she couldn't tell which), it could not regulate her body temperature. Twenty hours surrounded by ice had locked her joints in place and cooled her blood almost to the point of death. Her back was forgotten in the pain of being frozen.

Her head ached as if it were still on ice, constricting to keep itself warm. It was excruciating and made it very difficult to squeeze a thought through her shivering mind. All she could think was _Booth gone, Booth hurt, Booth dead._

Brennan knew she should keep moving to warm herself up, but couldn't manage. She was frozen in place, but eventually she was so tired she couldn't fight anymore.

So she let the cold wash over her body and take her under.

XXXXX

Booth may have talked if he'd had anything to tell them. He felt as though his chest would burst with the labor of his breathing, and his clothes were soaked through and through with the meager hydration he had had that had now exited his body through his pores.

The heat was unbearable, the air painful to breathe and the dirt they kicked on him came through the sack over his head, even though fresh air could not.

With every question the faceless, nameless men asked him, they kicked dirt through the exposed section of the hot box. The dry dirt suck to his sweaty arms and chest and went into his lungs as he desperately sucked for air.

Though Booth was delirious, it sounded as though the men outside his prison were having an argument amongst themselves for a few minutes. Booth felt like passing out and just letting the heat have him. But he had to stay awake and alive. _For Bones, _he kept telling himself.

Before he even realized what was happening, they were opening the small door, grabbing his bound hands and pushing him back to where he came from. Forward and left, forward and left. Booth stumbled along, exhausted from the heat, but hoping he'd see his partner soon, but not daring to think of what they could have done to her in his absence.

XXXXX

The thud of a limp body hitting the dirt floor of the cell terrified Brennan with the fear that Booth was too near to death to save. And even if he wasn't…Brennan wasn't sure if she could function well enough to help him and his death would be her fault. She didn't think she could bear it. But she had to try.

Breaking through what felt like ice that had collected around her joints was more painful than she had expected. She let out a small yelp at the biting pain in every part of her she tried to move. It was the first sound she had made since they put her on ice.

Booth stirred at the sound across the cell. Delirious from the heat, Booth limply reached out towards it, not even hoping to reach it, but needing her to be near him. "Bones…" he whispered.

"I'm here, Booth," Brennan chattered.

"Bones…" he said again, reaching his now unbound arm to the sound of her voice.

"Booth, I…can't…" she swallowed, willing the words to form on her frozen tongue. "I can't…"

"Temperance…" Booth said this time, his brows knitted together and a look of pure anguish on his face. "Please…" he whispered.

Mustering up all the strength and resistance to pain she had left, Brennan forced her joints to move and scoot her way across the dirt floor to him. Booth tried to do the same, but his deathly limp body wouldn't allow him to do so. After at least two painful minutes, she was next to him, five feet from where she had been before.

"What did they do to you, Booth?" she asked, afraid to touch him.

"Hot…" Booth managed, breathing hard. "Hot boxed me." There was a long silence. "It's…torture, Bones," he explained.

Brennan thought for a moment. Then, wordlessly, she brought her icy fingers to Booth's face. Instantly, his expression was less pained, his forehead smooth as he enjoyed the cold. She touched his cheek, dragged her cold fingers along his neck, through his hair. His skin beneath hers burned like fire to the point of even more pain for her, but she knew he needed to cool down to stay alive.

"Bones…" Booth whispered as she ran her hands along his chest. "Bones, why are you…so cold?"

"They tortured me, too, Booth," she answered.

"Fire and ice…" Booth mused deliriously. "Bones," he suddenly said after a moment. "Come here. I'll keep you warm, you keep me cold." He held out his arms as much as he could, which wasn't much, but Brennan understood the gesture.

But Booth didn't know how much his burning body hurt her. Touching him was painful.

Still, Brennan knew it would keep Booth alive.

But it hurt. So much.

Her frozen fingers ached with the heat of Booth's skin, but she willed them to stay there even though her joints felt like they would burst.

He needed her. He needed this.

How could she refuse him?

How could she be selfish for a man who had always given her everything she needed?

But how could she bear the pain silently? If he knew it hurt her, he'd never let her.

But she had to. For him. She'd never be able to live with herself if she didn't.

Brennan again willed her frozen joints to move as she slowly lowered herself so that she was lying next to her partner. His arms wrapped around her and he rested his head on her chest. This surprised Brennan as she was frozen again, but this time by shock, not from the cold. Booth's bare arms burned like red hot metal on her back and her sides. Her entire front was pressed against him and it felt like she had been laid on a bed of burning coals.

But she did not make a sound. Booth shivered with the pleasant temperature change as he slowly cooled down and drifted off to sleep, but Brennan stayed awake, the never ending tears silently streaming down her cheeks. This was more pain than getting her back ripped apart. But she could bear it, she knew, because it was for Booth. And she would never tell him.

And so she lay there all night, being tortured by the man she loved.

* * *

_Please let me know what you think. This is more important than any other chapter I beg reviews for because I REALLY need the feedback now! I haven't written in 18 months!! Please help! Thank you! -JF_

* * *


	9. Save Us

…_Hi. You have every right to hate me. -JF_

* * *

**Chapter 8 - Save Us**

_The present, Jeffersonian Institute_

Hodgins stopped by Zack's work station, never taking his eyes off of Dr. Blanche, who paced as she spoke on the phone on the other side of the lab. "There's something weird about her, Zack," he said bluntly.

The doctor looked up from his microscope. "She's not one of us," he agreed.

"It's almost like she's hiding something, you know?" Jack couldn't help but think up about forty conspiracy theories the second he said it out loud.

"Did I tell you that she came to me with six positively identified sets of remains from Limbo yesterday? She wanted me to double-check them." Zack shook his head. "Six. In three days."

"She's a mutant or something," Hodgins said with all seriousness.

XXXXX

"No, they don't know," Dr. Blanche said into her phone.

Angela, on the other side of a column, stopped short and listened. Was she talking about the team at the lab? Were they missing something?

"Yes, I saw the news earlier this morning." Pause. "They aren't taking it well, no." Pause. "I'll make sure of it. I am heading the scientific sanction of the investigation, after all." Pause. "No, she can't, because they're all too emotionally involved." Pause. "Yes, it is a relief." She laughed. Pause. "How much longer?" Pause. "Yes, I look forward to it."

Dr. Blanche hung up the phone and retreated to her office. Angela was so telling everyone to keep an eye out, she knew that for sure.

* * *

_Nineteen months earlier, Place unknown, India_

Through the fog of pain, Brennan wasn't very aware of what was going on around her. She thought it was almost dawn, and Booth was fast asleep in her arms. Her skin had begun to warm as the painful contrast in temperature between her and her partner subsided. The pain had lessened, but only to be overtaken by the tearing pain in her back. She moved as little as possible for Booth's sake, and tears began to stream down her cheeks once more.

When the cell door slowly creaked open again, Brennan tightened her grip on her sleeping partner, not knowing which of them they were coming for this time. Staring into the blackness, Brennan waited for the answer apprehensively.

A woman, vaguely familiar, kneeled before her. "Dr. Brennan," she whispered.

Brennan turned her hazy gaze to the woman, but could only focus on the small floral pattern of the woman's shirt. It seemed so happy, like something out of another life. It was so out of place.

"Dr. Brennan," the woman whispered again. "Dr. Brennan, it's me. Dr. Marie Kantar. Do you remember me?"

Brennan knitted her brows together, her arms wrapping tighter still around Booth's sleeping form. _Yes, from the site. Yes, I remember you, _Brennan wanted to tell her. But she could not find the words. Her lips only wanted to communicate one thing:

"It hurts…" Brennan whimpered.

"Dr. Brennan, I'm here to help you. I'm here to get you out of this place. Do you trust me?" Dr. Kantar asked.

Brennan nodded. She would have trusted any familiar face, considering the pain they may be able to relieve.

Booth stirred with the sound of conversation. "Bones?" he asked, half asleep, concerned.

"I'm right here, Booth," Brennan told him, her arms loosening around him.

"Who…?"

"It's Marie Kantar, Agent Booth," Dr. Kantar interrupted him in a whisper, knowing what his question was about to be. "I'm here to get the two of you out of here."

There were no questions to be asked. Both Brennan and Booth were absolutely exhausted—too exhausted to question their savior.

"Let's get them out of here," Dr. Kantar said to the men behind her neither of them had noticed. Fatigue blinded most of Brennan and Booth's vision as they were hauled to their feet and away from their cell. How they were so easily taken away from their prison was, for the moment, beyond them, and they didn't have the strength to bother to care. Freedom was all they could think of. Rest. An end to pain.

* * *

_The present, Jeffersonian Institute_

None of them had dared entered Brennan's office since the day she was reported dead. Not even Angela had dared to venture there. But it wasn't Brennan's office anymore. It was Dr. Blanche's office. And after the phone call Angela had overheard, it was a potential traitor's office.

It killed Hodgins to have suspicions about a co-worker. Though he knew he would never be friends with this woman, he didn't like to have there be something potentially dangerous about her that he was unaware of.

So today, he was determined to put an end to the unknown.

Dr. Blanche was on the platform, kept busy by four more sets of remains from Limbo. The bones already cleaned before storage, Hodgins' expertise would not be needed. So instead, he was going to root through her office.

Hodgins started with her purse, which was on the ground next to her computer. Not really sure what he was looking for, he dug through the bag until her found her wallet.

Driver's license.

M. Allison Blanche

6731 Grover Way, Washington DC

5 feet, 5 inches, 125 lbs

Brown hair, blue eyes

Seemed normal enough. Except that her eyebrows were so light. She had to be a natural blonde. _She dyes her hair, Jack_, Hodgins told himself. _That doesn't mean she's a spy. _Then he looked at the date. It was new, renewed within the last year.

Hodgins sighed. There was nothing here.

"Can I help you, Dr. Hodgins?" a voice suddenly came from the doorway behind him. Hodgins jumped, but tried to hide it.

"Hey, Dr. Blanche, I was just wondering if you…had anything…you needed." Hodgins stupidly mumbled. "That I could assist with," he added.

"So you came into my office instead of asking me right away? I was on the platform."

"Uhh…"

Dr. Blanche laughed and made a dismissive gesture to the topic. "It's alright Dr. Hodgins. I've heard you don't trust people easily. I wouldn't be surprised if you had come in here to look for some evidence that I was a spy or a criminal or something. It's alright."

"Your driver's license is new," Hodgins blurted. "Why?"

Dr. Blanche laughed a little again. "I recently got married. I had to get my name changed on all official documents."

"Oh."

"See, Dr. Hodgins? You can trust me. You can also ask me anything. I have nothing to hide."

"Okay," Hodgins challenged. "Why do you dye your hair? I thought blonde hair was favorable to most women."

Taken aback, Dr. Blanche absently touched her hair. "You can tell that?"

"Your eyebrows are the wrong shade to be a natural dark brown. It's not that noticeable. And, while I'm asking you questions, why do you go by your middle name? And what does the 'M' stand for?"

Embarrassed, Dr. Blanche blushed. "Dr. Hodgins, I don't see how this could possibly pertain to anything that has to do with my criminal record. So, if you'll excuse me…" She tried to leave, but Hodgins grabbed her arm.

The heavens opened. Light shone down on Doctor Jack Hodgins and majestic music played as the realization dawned on him.

"Oh my god," he whispered.

"What?" Dr. Allison Blanche asked, slightly nervous, trying to pull out of his grip.

"I know why you bother me so much!"

"Excuse me?"

"I've seen you before."

"Around the lab, you mean?"

"No, on TV. I saw you on TV."

"I've never been on TV."

"Allison Blanche hasn't. But you dyed your hair. You got married, you started going by your middle name…" Hodgins trailed off, amazed with himself.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh my god," Hodgins repeated. "Oh my god!"

"Would you stop saying that? Please let me go, and what are you talking about, Dr. Hodgins?" Dr. Blanche asked a bit frantic.

"Oh my god. You're Doctor Marie Kantar. You're the one who found Dr. Brennan and Booth. You're the one who worked their case. You're the one who identified them."

* * *

_Please review! I know I don't deserve it, but…please?_


	10. The Universe as We Knew It

_Disclaimer: Do I really have to do these? The story's mine, the characters aren't…blah, blah, blah…_

_Hi, it's me, I'm back. Please keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times, and enjoy the following roller coaster. This chapter is my absolute favorite. I hope you guys like it too. -JF_

* * *

**Chapter 9 – The Universe as We Knew It**

_Eighteen months ago, Calcutta, India_

Brennan sat on the edge of the uncomfortable cot, her forehead slightly crinkled, trying to come up with a logical reason this could have possibly happened. Booth, still half delirious, called Dr. Marie Kantar an angel, but Brennan (being Brennan) was not about to be so blindly grateful. She had to be sure they were going to _stay_ safe. She knew that's what Booth would do if he could think straight.

Dr. Kantar, sitting across the small hotel room from Brennan's cot, didn't look at the two souls she just saved. Brennan's forehead creased even further, adding this to her list of things to think over and worry about and calculate. Booth made a few pained sounds that caught her attention, and suddenly Dr. Kantar didn't matter anymore. Brennan's universe shifted back to its center.

"Booth?" she asked in a whisper, raking her still clammy fingers over his feverish face. "Booth, are you alright?"

"Where are we, Bones? Are we okay?" he whispered with closed eyes.

"I don't know. I think so. Maybe," Brennan answered, the tension in her body obvious in her whisper.

"'Sokay, Bones," Booth sighed, serious. "I'll protect you. I always do."

"You always do," she agreed.

XXXXX

Marie Kantar stepped outside the tiny hotel room, mumbling some excuse she knew neither Booth nor Brennan could hear. Once outside, she leaned her head against the wall, exhaled like she hadn't breathed in days, and slowly sank to the floor. She couldn't believe she had accomplished what she had set out to do. Surely it should have been far more dangerous than it had turned out to be. Tears welled in Dr. Kantar's eyes. There had to be a catch. There had to be.

"Dr. Kantar?" a male voice from further down the hallway called. Marie looked up to see her accomplice standing at the end of the hallway, motioning her with a dark hand to come outside with him. She obeyed.

"Dr. Kantar, I owe you my life, you know that," the Indian man began once they were outside. "But you must understand that that is exactly what will be taken from me if I go back and they find the Americans gone without some kind of explanation."

"You're going back?" Kantar asked, surprised. She thought this man—Shivi, he told her his name was—helped her because he wanted a permanent out from the gang that had caused him so much grief and so much pain.

"I must go back, Doctor. They are the only family I have."

"You don't need them."

"I know, Doctor. But when they aren't torturing Americans or…me…" he looked sheepishly at Kantar, and she knew the story there. It was the reason he owed her his life. "When they aren't doing things like that, they really are not so bad."

"You'll always go back to them, won't you, Shivi?"

"Yes, ma'am, I think I will."

"Okay," Kantar sighed. "Then we need a plan."

XXXXX

"Booth?" Brennan asked gently. His eyes were closed and his breathing even, but she knew he didn't sleep. "Booth, how are you feeling?"

"Perfect," he breathed, his eyes still closed. "Absolutely perfect."

"Dr. Kantar needs to talk to us. I wanted to make sure you were lucid before I let her talk."

"So nice of you to consider my feelings, Bones," Booth sighed with a smile. "I'm listening. Lucidly listening…"

"Lucidity isn't an emotion, Booth, it's a sate of being," Brennan corrected him with a gentle touch to his shoulder. He reached up and grabbed her hand were it rested and gave it a squeeze, smiling again.

"It's good to hear you be your annoying self, Bones. I love your annoying self." Even in their situation, his choice of words made her heart turn upside-down. Brennan winced. It hurt so good.

Dr. Kantar, unseen, cleared her throat. "Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Brennan, but we don't have much time."

"No, it's fine. Sorry."

Clearing her throat again, Dr. Kantar sat beside the pair, settling in for what was about to be quite the conversation.

"I know the two of you must have a lot of questions. I'll try to answer them to the best of my ability, but please know that I don't know everything," Kantar began. She sighed. "Okay. This is not my first time in Calcutta. The last time I was here, I was working a site, and on my way back to the home of the family I was staying with, I drove past a building that odd noises were coming out of. It seemed like something out of a horror movie, really." She shook her head. "I heard a man screaming. I've never heard anything so horrible. But, instead of running like hell like I should have, I stopped my jeep and went to…I don't know what I actually expected to accomplish. But right before I got to the door, the people inside the building opened the warehouse door and threw a body out onto the street. Like whoever it was was simply garbage. They closed the door laughing, and I ran to the body they had dumped, not sure what I could do. I have a PhD, not an MD, so I knew less than I would have liked at that moment. But luckily, his injuries were minor compared to what I had feared. Just a lot of cuts. I helped him into my jeep, took him to the house, and made sure he was alright. It turns out the men who were hurting him were trying to scare him, because he owed them money. He didn't have any. So I gave him what he said he needed, which was quite a bit, and he basically just ran once I gave him the money. I felt rather foolish, thinking I had fallen for something quite amateur. But he came back the next day, thanking me for helping him, and he told me in all sincerity that I had saved his life."

Kantar paused, making sure her audience was still with her.

"His name was Shivi, and he's the one who helped me rescue the two of you. I called in my favor to him."

There was a long moment of silence.

"So…that's it?" Booth asked. "You used your 'in' with the people who were holding us prisoner and we just waltzed out of there and now we can go home?"

"Not in the slightest," Dr. Kantar said, upset that Booth's story wasn't the case. At all.

"There's always a catch," Booth nodded.

"Quite a large one, I'm afraid. You see, my friend Shivi will not be punished for killing you, but he will be killed if his few superiors find out in the morning that the two of you are gone and he has no answer for them. And I don't want Shivi to die."

"So, what are you saying?" Brennan asked, worried.

Dr. Kantar closed her eyes. "He has to kill you. He's trusted among them, and has more people under his command than superiors. They won't question his actions as long as it includes your death."

"How is this going to work?" Booth asked the obvious.

"They'll leave the bodies there until they move again, which they do every couple of weeks. Then I'll volunteer to head up the investigation of the two murder victims found in an abandoned building, because burn victims are an area of expertise for me. I'm sure they'll let me, especially since the two of you will have been missing for weeks."

"Burn victims?" Brennan asked.

"Don't worry, Dr. Brennan. It only has to be convincing to a few stupid gangbangers with a couple flashlights. I'll be faking the entire investigation."

Still unsure, and still absorbing everything, Brennan was silent as she thought very, very hard.

"If you're going to do this, shouldn't we be hurrying to go back before the sun rises and fabricate our murders?" Booth asked.

"It's being done as we speak. I've taken care of everything."

"Where are you getting the bodies?" Booth shot Kantar a worried look.

Kantar let out a deep breath. "Desperate times, Agent Booth. Would you rather go back and die, or let someone who is already dead do that for you?" She didn't look like she expected an answer.

"Why are you doing this?" Brennan questioned, concentrating on a distant wall.

Dr. Kantar looked down. "Because I had a way to help. I couldn't let you die, knowing that."

"We don't even know you," Brennan nearly accused, being her tactless self.

Dr. Kantar stood up. "I understand. You don't need to trust me. But I'm not going to kill you, and that's more than I can say for your previous captors." And with that, she left the room.

Brennan turned to her companion. "Was I mean?"

Booth patted her hand again. "It's okay. You were right." Booth yawned, resting his head in her lap. "Sort of."

Brennan laid back and let her logical side take over. It was so nice to just sit and be logical, like she used to every day, standing on the platform, staring at bones and solving murders of years past. Brennan breathed deeply, running her fingers through Booth's hair, logically processing the information she had just received.

They were safe, she concluded.

For the first time in a very, very long time, Brennan felt at peace.

* * *

_The present, Jeffersonian Institute_

"Dr. Hodgins, you have every right to hate me," Dr. Marie Allison Kantar Blanche said slowly, feeling cornered. "I lied to you."

"Damn right you did," Hodgins agreed, still starting at her in amazement.

"I would tell you that I could explain, but I'm sworn to secre—"

Hodgins suddenly fiercely leaped towards her, pinning her against the wall behind her. "WHO ARE YOU?" he screamed in her face.

"Marie Blanche," she answered, frightened by his intensity.

"What are you doing here?!" he asked, shaking her.

"Filing the position left empty by Dr. Temperance Brennan's death."

"Why?" Hodgins' face was a flaming red, and his eyes burned with anger. "WHY?" he yelled when she didn't answer.

The others, who had been out on the platform, heard the commotion and rushed in. Finding Hodgins screaming at the helpless woman pinned against the wall, Angela and Zack moved in to pull him away.

"Jack!" Angela shouted in surprise and disbelief. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"She's hiding something!"

"Everyone is hiding _something,_ Dr. Hodgins," Cam said.

"Something about Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth, Cam!" Hodgins let go of Marie Blanche, turning on his co-workers and friends, desperate to explain. "It's her! It's Marie Kantar, the one who worked their case in Calcutta. Why else would she be here? She has and agenda! She's hiding something! Can't you see? Can't you see anything?!" Hodgins, exasperated, turned on Marie Blanche again, hand raised, ready to beat the answers out of her. "WHY ARE YOU HERE?"

"They're alive."

The room was silent.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five seconds of dead silence.

Six

Seven

Eight seconds of nothingness.

The universe turned inside-out.

It could have been eternity, for all they cared.

Then

"Agent Seeley Booth and Doctor Temperance Brennan are alive," Marie Blanche repeated slowly. "I faked their deaths myself."

* * *

_The present, Calcutta, India_

The gunshots had stopped, the screaming had ceased, and the search for the Americans had ended just as soon as it had begun.

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight seconds passed in silence as Booth and Brennan struggled to gather their thoughts.

"What now?" Brennan asked Booth in a whisper, though she already knew the answer.

"Nothing," Booth said sadly. "This doesn't change a single thing."

Hearing her suspicions confirmed, Brennan had expected to be heartbroken that she could still never return home, possibly now more than ever before. She knew she should have wanted to go back to Washington, DC. But she simply couldn't help the feeling of relief when she realized nothing was going to change any time soon. The life she and Booth had created together wasn't about to disappear. And that made her…happy?

"Booth?" she said timidly, second guessing whether she should tell him her recent discovery.

"Mm?"

"I don't think I want to go home."

Booth just stared at her. "Angela? Russ? The lab? You don't want any of it?"

Brennan couldn't meet his burning gaze. "I don't know anymore. I like the life I have here."

He grabbed her arms and made her look at him. "Bones. I pulled a knife out of your leg last night. Remember that? The excruciating pain? The random people who want to hurt you because you're beautiful and they think you have money? Do you recall any of that? Is that the kind of life you want to live?" He was yelling now. It was scary. Brennan fought back.

"Weren't you the one who said we just have to go with what we've got? That we rely on each other, and that's all? Well that's what I'm doing!"

"Yes, we're dealing, and we're staying together, but always trying to find a way out! A way to a better life! Not to be content with being Weston Moore and Tamara Werner!"

"Tazara," Brennan angrily corrected him.

"Whatever," he snapped. "It doesn't matter. It's not who you are."

"Then who am I, Booth?" Brennan yelled. "Because obviously I'm not Temperance Brennan anymore. I'm not 'Bones'—I haven't looked at human remains in a year and a half. Who am I, Booth? Please, enlighten me, because I have no idea."

"Yes you are! You are Bones. You're my bones," his voice caught in his throat for a moment, but then he went on. "You're the core of my being, my strength. You're the very center of me that makes me who I am, that defines everything about me. You are my bones."

"Stop, Booth," Brennan whispered. This was not what she had been looking for. But he didn't listen.

"You are the center of my universe. You are the driving force that keeps me alive. The thought of you and keeping you safe is why I get up in this hell-hole of a city every morning. You are the reason I think, 24-7, of ways to get us out of here. You are at the center of everything I do. You are the reason I breathe, Temperance Brennan."

She couldn't think, talk, move. He continued.

"So you will _not_ give up on me, my Bones, my breath, my heart." He stepped closer to her and touched his hand to her cheek. Her crystal eyes were wide with fear, confusion, and intensity, but Booth looked into them fearlessly. "My soul, my universe, my life…" he brought his other hand up to hold her face. Brennan knew what was coming and for the world wanted it just as much as her partner plainly showed on his face.

But Brennan's pulse pounded and her vision blurred. Her skin was suddenly cold and she couldn't breathe…and it wasn't a reaction to Booth's terrifying words.

"I can't breathe," she gasped.

"Oh my god, you're burning!" he said, hands still on her face.

The world began to fall away. She couldn't see his face anymore. The blindness was horrifying. All she could hear was her rapid pulse pounding in her ears, each its own gunshot. She felt his arms around her as her body gave up on her like she had tried to give up on him. His arms around her were the only thing that grounded her. She clung to him, freezing, burning, gasping, blind, and deaf to his pleading cries.

Was this death?

She hadn't even told him she loved him.

How unjust this universe had been.


	11. Powerless

_Sorry! I know it's been a while, and it's short, but it's what I have. Hope you enjoy what's here. __Aaaaaand TA-DA! We're done with flashbacks! Until I change my mind, of course … but for now, we're sticking to the present. Enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 10 – Powerless**

_Calcutta, India_

She was dying in his arms, and he couldn't save her.

It was his worst nightmare, except it felt worse than he ever could have imagined.

Booth sat kneeling on the ground, Brennan's torso cradled in his arms, his head bent over her. Not knowing what else he could do, he just repeated over and over the only thing he could think of.

"My Bones, my breath, my heart, my life…"

Her silence cut him deeply.

"Lochana!" he found himself screaming. "Lochana, I need your help!" He held tighter to his life, his heart, his soul. As the owner of the inn bustled in to see what had gone wrong, Booth felt like he had been submerged in water. Everything Lana said to him was muffled and he limply followed her orders, never saying a word.

He just didn't know what to do.

XXXXX

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

All the beeps in the world wouldn't convince him. The reassurance that her heart continued to beat meant nothing to him.

He should be doing something, he knew. He should be interrogating doctors or badgering nurses or anyone else he could talk to in order to find out what the hell was wrong with her. He should be actively seeking a cure. He should be sacrificing himself to save her life.

But he just sat there. Helpless. Just as silent as she was.

XXXXX

"Mr. Moore, shall I bring you a cot?" The familiar voice of Doctor Rajan kindly asked from behind him.

"Don't trouble yourself, I won't use it," Booth's low whisper answered. "I'm not moving."

"Mr. Moore, your princess will be alright, we hope. You should get some rest."

"Your hopes mean nothing to me." He never looked away from her face.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Moore. I understand. I will go." He guessed the doctor had left when it was silent again. He reached out and touched her for the first time since they had gotten to the hospital. Her hand was blazing. The sensation made his eyes sting with the threat of tears.

"Mr. Moore?" the voice he thought had left suddenly asked. "I'm sorry, sir, but is there anyone you can call? To be here for her? To be here for you? It might be a good id—"

"There's no one else in the world, Rajan," Booth interrupted him. The doctor slowly shuffled out without another world. "You hear that, Bones?" he whispered to the woman in front of him. "No one else in the world. You can't leave me. I can't lose you like I lost everyone else. I can't do that."

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

"That's not good enough. I need more than that, Temperance."

But of course, he that was all he was going to get. Booth pressed her smooth, burning hand against his forehead as he leaned forward in his chair. He was physically exhausted beyond comprehension and his emotions began to go numb, unable to stand the pain any longer. Inch by inch, he was losing it.

And ever so silently, one by one, Booth's tears finally fell.

* * *

_Jeffersonian Institute_

"Faked their deaths?" Angela asked, trying to contain her anger.

"To protect them," Blanche/Kantar or whatever her name was answered quickly.

"Like hell," said Jack, proud of being right about someone for a change.

"I can explain."

"Oddly enough, I don't really want to hear it. I kind of just want to hit you. And normally I'm opposed to punching women in the face. But right now—"

Cam interrupted Jack with a hand to his shoulder as he tried to advance on Blanche again. "Stop, Dr. Hodgins. Unlike you, I'd like to hear her story." Cam gave Blanche a sort of death-glare. "Tell us everything you know, Dr. Blanche, or so help me God I will let Dr. Hodgins here beat it out of you."

Blanche slowly slid down the wall she had previously been pinned to. Taking a deep breath, she began with meeting Brennan and Booth at the mass grave site over a year and a half before.

XXXXX

"It was difficult to get Dr. Brennan to leave it to me," Blanche continued. "She knew you'd all be tearing the case apart. It was Booth's idea to position the bodies like we did, with the male embracing the female. He said if anyone knew him at all, anything else would prove it a fraud." Blanche sighed. "We gave them false identities, a reason for being in Calcutta, and a place to stay. But I couldn't do anymore before I had to leave. Some people I trust in Calcutta check in with them every once and a while. In case anything goes wrong."

"Have you had recent contact with these people you trust?" Cam asked.

"Ever considered they were the ones who tipped off the gang this morning?" Hodgins accused. Cam glared, and then turned her attention back to the woman sitting on the floor, awaiting an answer.

"Yes, this morning. They assured me Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth were not harmed. And no, Dr. Hodgins. These people don't even know Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth's real names, much less who they're hiding from or that they're hiding at all."

"Call them," Angela demanded suddenly.

"I…I can't just…I don't…"

"Call them," she said again.

Blanche hesitated a moment, and Jack took an angry step forward. "Okay, okay! My phone is on my desk."

Zack grabbed it and tossed it at her with uncharacteristic distain. Blanche shakily dialed as the room became tenser by the second.

"Shawn? It's Marie. Where are Weston and Tazara?"

There was a long silence.

Blanche's eyes shot up to Cam, then to Hodgins, her pupils constricting in fear. She hung up without another word to the person she trusted, whoever the hell they were.

"Well?" Hodgins prodded.

"Tazara is very ill," Blanche answered, staring at the floor, unblinking.

"Brennan," Angela said slowly through her teeth. "Her name is Temperance Brennan."

"They don't know if she'll live," Blanche whispered, as if hoping they wouldn't hear her. But theses words spoke louder than any others.

None of them knew what to think or what to do. It was an odd feeling, this powerlessness.

Over eight thousand miles away, Booth felt this powerlessness a hundred fold, and wept endless tears because of it.


	12. This Kind of Death

__

Warning! _Sometimes I lie__. Perception is everything. Please don't hate me for something I haven't done yet. Okay? Okay. _

_Please let me know what you think, and as always, enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 11 – This Kind of Death**

_Calcutta, India_

Booth didn't sleep. How could he possibly?

So many times, in their past life, in the other world back in Washington, DC, Brennan and Booth had faced endless trials together. Every day, they saw death. More than once, they faced death. Death was part of their job, their everyday life, their routine. It was not some great unknown. It was a reason to work…a reason to live.

But now, as he struggled to imagine the worst, as he battled within himself, hoping for the best but trying to prepare for the unthinkable, Booth knew that this kind of death was much, much worse. This was not the death they saw every day. This pain was not the sadness they brought to victims' loved ones as they handed out bad news like fliers to a rock concert. This was nothing like anything they had ever seen, or heard of, or ever imagined. This was the kind of death that kills.

But if being Catholic had ever taught Booth anything besides guilt, it was to always have faith. Faith that she would pull through, faith that things could go back to normal (or at least as normal as they could be), and faith that maybe, just maybe, he could survive this. But he wasn't the one attached to all the monitors. Cue the good old Catholic guilt.

Booth didn't move from where he sat, elbows leaned on Brennan's hospital bed, both his hands clutching her burning right hand to his face.

_

* * *

_

The Jeffersonian Institute, Washington, D.C.

"You said you gave them fake identities. Why couldn't they come back if you had fabricated papers?" Zack asked, always the logical thinker.

Blanche looked ashamed. "Of course that would have been ideal, after they laid low for a while. But it wasn't possible. The identities weren't legitimate. We didn't have that kind of time, and since then we've simply not had the resources."

"So you left them there with no way of getting back," Cam accused.

"I understand this looks bad, but I was only trying to help, believe me."

"You saved their lives," Angela allowed quietly.

"With help," Blanche added, always the modest one. "And I've been assured by Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth themselves that as long as they are together, the matter was not as urgent."

"It seems pretty urgent to me that Dr. Brennan is lying in a hospital bed and they don't know if she'll live!" Hodgins yelled.

"I had no idea it would come to this, Dr. Hodgins! For a year and a half they've been FINE!" Blanche exploded.

There was a stunned silence. Blanche took a breath and went on.

"Happy, even. I'm sorry this may be hard to hear but they accepted their reality, unlike the lot of you." She looked each one of her furious colleagues in the eyes. "After the necessary time for them to lay low after their feigned deaths, which was only about four months, they never even asked about coming back. They were _happy_. So forgive me for not breaking the law for people who weren't begging me to do so."

"Is there any way we can talk to Booth?" Angela asked quietly after another moment of silence.

"Possibly," answered Blanche.

"If they want to come back," Cam began slowly, trying to fit her mind around the possibility that they might not _want_ to come back. "Is there a way to get them here? To get Dr. Brennan here in her state?"

"I've been trying to figure it out, in case they ever asked," said Blanche, unsure of herself. "And I honestly have no idea."

_

* * *

_

Calcutta, India

"Excuse me, Mr. Moore?" a deep voice asked, interrupting Booth's guilt-ridden silence. Booth merely grunted in response, not bothering to turn his face away from Brennan. "Mr. Moore, Dr. Kantar needs to speak with you."

Realizing the man talking to him was Shawn, their only contact to their former world, Booth finally tore his eyes away from his partner to look at him and take the cell phone he was offering.

"Weston Moore," he answered as Shawn stepped out of the room.

"…Booth?" an unexpected, yet shockingly familiar voice came over the line.

"Angela?"

Angela sighed, either laughing or crying, he couldn't tell. "Oh my god, you really are alive. Blanche wasn't pulling it out of her ass."

Completely at a loss for what to say, Booth tried to think like Brennan. He shoved his emotions and his longing for their former world aside in an attempt to make room for logical thinking. There were so many things he wanted to say. But he settled for necessary information. "Who's Blanche?"

"Um well I guess that's Dr. Marie Kantar to you, huh?" Angela said with that weird laugh-cry thing again. "She replaced Brennan here at the lab and we sort of, um…figured her out…I guess. Sorta…um scared the truth out of her."

Again with the lack of knowing what to say. This was just too weird. Their two worlds had just collided and the explosion was blinding.

"Is Bren okay?" Angela asked at his silence.

"I…I don't know, Angela," Booth said sadly, looking down at his partner, for some reason wishing he were in fact blind. "I really don't know."

_

* * *

_

The J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.

The Deputy Director of the FBI's desk was laden with files that were beginning to collect dust. Cullen sat back in his seat and took in the mess with a sigh.

The door to his office opened unexpectedly and the woman who entered began speaking before Cullen knew what had happened.

"Special Agent Seeley Booth is alive, sir."

Cullen stopped dead, his brain finally catching up to her words. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Special Agent Seeley Booth and Dr. Temperance Brennan, sir. I'm sure you remember the case. Supposedly dead for almost two years. They've been found alive, living under the false identities of Weston Moore and Tazara Werner," the woman sprouted off, handing him the thick file he had lent to that Angela girl a week previously. He opened it, to find the additional information already there.

"And you are…?" he asked the woman.

"Doctor Camille Saroyan, sir. From the Jeffersonian."

"Ah yes. And you're sure about this?"

"Yes sir. We received the information from the doctor who rescued them from captivity, faked their deaths, falsified the investigation of said deaths and established their false identities, sir."

"I see, Dr. Saroyan," Cullen said, pondering briefly over this unspecified doctor who had broken many laws while he read over the file. "What are the extenuating circumstances not specified here about the return of Agent Booth and Dr. Brennan?" Cullen asked, pointing at the place in the file that was the exact reason Cam was in the FBI building at all.

"That's actually why I'm here, sir, on behalf of those circumstances. Today we were able to speak to Agent Booth directly for the first time, and apparently Dr. Brennan has fallen ill. It is unknown whether or not it is life-threatening, but she _is_ comatose, sir. We, including Agent Booth, would feel much more at ease with her back in the states, however the false identities were not actually complete or legitimate at all. They have no social security numbers, birth certificates or passports, so getting them back safely, legally and easily is not something we can do without giving away their identities to those who are after them in India. This, sir, is where we need the FBI's help." Cam took a deep breath to steady herself.

Cullen's brows came together in concentration as he looked over the file the FBI had so recently reopened and quickly re-closed, having seen no discrepancies. After a long silence he spoke.

"I'll order their papers, then."

"That's it?" Cam asked, shocked at the simplicity of the situation. Booth and Brennan had been stuck in India for almost two years and the fix was as easy as telling Cullen and him giving the word? It was just ridiculous. "You give your word and that's it?"

"Well our guys will need the little information their false identities have and we'll need an address to send the legitimate documents to," Cullen allowed. "But other than that, it should be pretty straight forward."

Cam turned, stunned, and walked out of the Deputy Director's office without another word.

* * *

Standing on the edge of that cliff, the cliff of everything they had ever faced and everything they had ever known, Temperance Brennan stared down into the unsettled depths of the terrifying water. It was pitch black and vicious and it growled with anticipation, as if it knew she were about to jump, and it waited impatiently, hungrily.

Temperance had always hated the ocean. Its primitive ferocity and raw scientific wonder should have entranced her, but it annoyed her somewhat, and terrified her more than anything else. The ocean was one of those places where there were yet unknown creatures, unexplored depths and inexplicable happenings. She hated it.

She looked around herself. It was quite the predicament she had gotten herself into—unsteady black waters beneath her, sheer black rock behind her and absolutely nothing to either side. Temperance Brennan had faced many things in her life, but this was one of them. She had never been one for extreme rock climbing, even with the promise of extraordinary specimens. She looked down at her trembling hands. It was cold, but she knew that was not the reason she shivered. Her hands were pale and her skin felt too tight. She saw at her wrists the beginnings of a long-sleeved white dress and quickly took in the rest of it—full-length, sheer and beautifully cut, but absolutely ridiculous considering where she was and the situation she had found herself in. This was not the time nor the place for eveningwear.

Looking up at the sky, at the dark, heavy clouds, Brennan suddenly worried that it might rain. Rain was always so uncomfortable when unprepared. But she did always enjoy the beauty of it. The water cycle was a very simple scientific happening. Temperance appreciated this simplicity and found it beautiful. As she thought this over, it began to rain very lightly. The rain barely touched Temperance's skin, but it felt almost electric, like a lover's touch. It was a feeling she knew she had felt before, but could not put her finger on it. The only thing that came to mind was the faint smell of leather and Old Spice with a slight twinge of gunpowder or burnt coffee. Perhaps both.

Temperance's legs were beginning to tire. Ever so carefully she moved to sit where she stood, but the rock was slippery from the rain. Suddenly she was falling, that smell still strong in her mind, like her brain was pleading with her to call out, but the words would not come, the smell incomprehensible in her panic not to fall into the terrifying black depths below her.

Death was not as peaceful as she thought it would be. There was no inviting light, no warmth, no happiness. This was not the death that coaxed you in, away from whatever was holding you to that other world that now seemed so far away. This was not the death where her mother waited, smiling and welcoming with open arms.

This was the death that dragged her down, away from that smell, away from the electric rain. This death was scary and dark and the ocean beneath her roared with delight as she fell.

The water was just as cold as she had expected, but strangely calm for the waves she had seen from above. Her body went limp as she slowly suffocated in the softly rocking cradle of the deadly water. Leather and Old Spice and gunpowder or coffee filled her mind as her eyes took in the startling blackness around her. With a jolt, though her mind was numb from the cold and the water in her lungs, a sound began to accompany the smell.

It was deep, but it was only a whisper, urgent though it was.

"_My bones, my breath, my heart, my life."_

It was a chant, but it sounded more like a plea than anything else. Its meaning, however, was lost somewhere in this murderous ocean, just beyond Temperance's reach, if she could have reached out at all.

XXXXX

Dying was terrifying, but interesting. Leather and Old Spice and gunpowder or coffee seemed to wrap coils around her and the deep whispers tightened them, as if holding her. Temperance knew it was nothing in the water, because nothing in this sea of death and terror could be this warm, this good, this perfect. Suddenly she was not scared.

If dying smelled like comfort and sounded like love and felt like happiness then die she must. It was really that simple.


	13. Without You

_A gift from me to my readers. The quick update compliments of the wonderful reviews. I was truly inspired. Please enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 12 – Without You**

_Calcutta, India_

Talking to Angela on the phone had left Booth completely emotionally drained. He had had to exercise every last bit of control he had left—which wasn't much—to keep from demanding all kinds of information from Angela: how Cam and the rest of the squint squad were, who had replaced him as their agent, what people were saying, how things were after they thought he and Brennan were dead, and most importantly, Booth had to literally bite his tongue to keep from begging Angela to check on Parker for him.

It had also been hard because of the questions Angela asked: what had they been doing the past twenty months, why they had never tried to make contact (which was a very interesting conversation, because Angela had been told that they hadn't made the effort because they didn't want to. Yeah that wasn't even a little bit true), if he and Brennan were together, and of course the hardest questions about how Brennan had gotten sick and how bad she was and how she looked and if he thought she would be okay. Booth couldn't bring himself to lie to her and Angela's tears had worn him raw.

Booth had read somewhere that coma patients look "almost peaceful" or "as if they were sleeping" or "suspended in a blissful dream", but as he looked down at Brennan, at the woman he cared for so deeply, he realized it was all a load of crap. Booth had seen this woman sleep before, he had watched her dream and he had absolutely loved it. This was very different. He knew without even thinking about it that she should have been on her right side if she were sleeping. He knew that one hand should have been tucked beneath her pillow and the other should have reached out and unconsciously held his (he had never told her she did this, but she did. Every night).

He knew that this sleep was uncomfortable. She shouldn't have been on her back with her hands at her sides. Her face shouldn't have been slack in a mask of death. It bothered him deeply, but he understood. He understood that somewhere she was fighting a battle that took so much of her strength that her body needed to be ignored. He knew that, and he prayed for her to the God he so often ignored.

Booth straightened the blankets that covered her, centered her pillow and pushed it back a little so it looked more comfortable, though he knew she couldn't care. As he moved about, a few strands of her hair fell across her face and he gently brushed them back, his fingers lingering where they touched her pale skin. It still felt like some unseen force moved between them when he touched her, almost like electricity, but softer. And because of that force, he knew she was still there. He knew she was still fighting.

God, was she beautiful.

Booth stood over her and watched her for who knows how long. But suddenly, like a stab to the heart, Brennan's monitors beeped uncontrollably. He looked at the only one he understood, her heart monitor, and it was frightening. Her heart was racing in a deathly panic and Booth, for a few seconds, could think of nothing to do for her. All the other monitors flashed red and green and blue and beeped with an annoying, resonating clarity. Finally, in a rush of realization, he ran out into the hall and called those desperate words.

"Help!" he yelled, his voice strong though his legs threatened to give up on him. "I need help! Something's wrong with her!!"

There was a disturbance in the calm station down the hall, and people were coming, but no one was moving fast enough. Didn't they realize that she was dying? Frustrated with their numbness to this terrifying feeling, Booth ran back into the room. Brennan was uncomfortably still as her monitors raised hell. Deep down she was losing the battle, he knew, but he could not help her. He sat on the edge of her bed and leaned over her so he could whisper in her ear the only thing that had been running through his mind since the first time he had said it.

"My Bones, my breath, my heart, my life…please, please, please…" his voice caught, and he merely choked the rest of his thought out, because it hurt to say it. "Don't die, Bones."

The long, uninterrupted tone of that damn monitor reached his ears, and Booth couldn't take it anymore. Acting on instinct, without a care besides her, he grabbed her limp body and held it to him, wrapping his arms around her like he never had before. If he could just hold her here, to somehow give her some of his life force—all of it, if it would save her—he would give his soul because it was worthless without her anyway. He held her tightly, vowing he would never let go. If he had to be buried with her, so be it. His life was worthless without her anyway.

People had walked into the small hospital room but he couldn't have cared any less. He heard them say "D.N.R." like a whisper of death and knew they would do nothing for her.

Booth did not cry as he held the limp body of the woman he loved because it wasn't over, he knew it wasn't. He heard that tone and knew the flat green line he would see if he looked up. But it wasn't over because he could still feel that soft sweet force within her. She was distant, but she was there. And the only thing he knew was to hold on to her because when she touched him, that's when he felt the most alive. He hoped somewhat selfishly it would be the same for her. And if it wasn't, he wasn't letting go, even when that sweetness within her faded, because his life force was worthless without hers anyway.

Because this was the kind of death that kills.

* * *

_The Jeffersonian, Washington, DC_

Having the rest of the squints anxiously awaiting her arrival weighed heavily on Cam because of the news that burdened her shoulders and clouded her mind. Cam dreaded every second that brought her closer to the disbelief she would face when she told them the truth when she got back to the lab.

It just didn't make _sense_.

One confession. One conversation. One man, and one order for some legitimate false papers.

_That_ was what had kept Booth and Brennan away for almost two years? _That _was why she attended two soul-piercing funerals and spent endless nights crying over two people she cared deeply for? _That _was _it? _It was just so STUPID! Cam slammed her palms down on her steering wheel as she waited at a stop light. She might have screamed a little, but no one heard so it didn't matter.

Cam couldn't help but be angry with Booth and Brennan. If coming back was that easy, if contacting them was a simple well-devised phone call, it was irresponsible and inconsiderate and just flat out rude for them to have let the squints keep thinking they were dead. So what if they were happy. They owed Washington DC a phone call at least, even if they wanted to stay in Calcutta. They could have stayed and played make believe. It would have hurt her, but it would have hurt a lot less than she did now. Because right now she couldn't decide whether she wanted to punch things or cry or go get drunk or laugh at the irony.

There was a knot in her chest, and something was just _wrong_ with the picture she had been painted by Blanche and Booth and Cullen. There was a disconnect, and Cam feared what that may mean.

It should have been good news that bringing them back was so easy. If it had been days since their disappearance it would have been the most welcome relief in the world. But it had been years. Washington DC had moved on. The deaths of their co-workers and friends had affected the squints deeply…it had changed their lives at the very foundation of everything they believed in.

And it was all a lie.

Cam felt red-hot anger beginning to smolder in her chest and slammed her palms on the steering wheel again. A frustrated tear slipped down her cheek as she remembered with a stab of despair that she had to tell all this to the people whom it would hurt the most.

It just didn't make any sense.

* * *

_Dying was terrifying, but interesting. Leather and Old Spice and gunpowder or coffee seemed to wrap coils around her and the deep whispers tightened them, as if holding her. Temperance knew it was nothing in the water, because nothing in this sea of death and terror could be this warm, this good, this perfect. Suddenly she was not scared. _

_If dying smelled like comfort and sounded like love and felt like happiness then die she must. It was really that simple._

Temperance let herself be lulled by the water and held by the essence of everything good and kind and pure as her awareness began slipping, the suffocation and the cold were simply too much to handle.

But then her head broke the surface of the water. She gasped for air, her eyes still shut tight. It was still raining with gentle electricity, and though it seemed like such a small and silly detail before she had fallen into the icy water, now it was the most wonderful, most comforting feeling in the world.

XXXXX

Booth had never heard an intake of breath as beautiful as the one Brennan took beside his face. The monitor kicked into mountains and valleys again and the people he guessed were still behind him gasped in wonder. It was not a wonder to Seeley Booth, though. He had felt it happen.

He carefully laid her back onto the pillows and waited. He was underwater again, the people around him saying much that reached his ears only as a muffled sound he didn't feel like deciphering. He was busy watching her, and waiting for something. Anything. It didn't matter.

Only a few moments later, Brennan opened her eyes slowly, as if unsure of what she would see. As if she were coming out of a nightmare and couldn't remember what was real and what only lurked in her subconscious. Booth had forgotten how clear and beautiful and wonderful her eyes were. He remembered well what her soul felt like but he had forgotten a little what it looked like.

He took one long look into the crystal blue, and then his chest broke. All the fear he had been denying broke free in the strongest, most painful current of relief he had ever felt. He sobbed openly, brokenly. But these tears were much different than the ones from hours before. Those had been silent, a deep, slow torture. These tears, however, wrenched his heart and wracked his body and he could not control them.

She didn't say anything, but she touched his face and he leaned into her touch. Booth didn't think she knew why he was crying, but she smiled a weak smile that touched her beautiful eyes. Still shaking with euphoric tears, Booth leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. He kissed her again and again, because it was the natural thing to do. That was what he was supposed to do, what he needed to do. It was just so _right_.

Slowly, Booth climbed into the hospital bed with her and laid his head on her chest, relishing that force which flowed between them. Temperance Brennan's heartbeat was the sweetest sounding thing in his universe. Everything else fell away as she wrapped her arms around him, as if he were the injured one, the sick one. And even though Booth so often felt the need to be the protector, the alpha, he let himself be weak in her arms.

XXXXX

This reality she had awoken to was very different from the one she had suddenly gone blind and deaf to in Booth's arms. She was with Booth again, but this one was filled with a mellow kind of sorrow mingled with the buzz of worry, whereas before, in their hotel room, Booth had been frustrated, and she had been angry, and then there was a sort of sweet tension.

It was like two different worlds.

And in this one, Booth was kissing her. At first she thought that surely she must still be in the water. She could still smell that smell and feel the warm coils around her, and she rationalized that maybe that savory sweet on her lips was just another part of these comforting sensations as she sank deeper into the icy depths.

But he was there, and she could see him and touch him and he cried though she did not know why. And though none of it made any sense—though she knew that she should have died—she kissed him back because that was the right thing to do, the natural thing, the thing she wanted. She wrapped her arms around him because she needed to.

Because it was Booth, and loved her. She realized that now.

And she loved him.

It was the only thing that _did_ make sense.

* * *

_You like the quick update? I'm telling you, it was the reviews ;) -JF_


	14. Traitor

_Hello. So I hope things will mostly make sense after this. Thank you so much for reading. It means the world to me. Enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 13 – The Traitor**

_One week ago, Calcutta, India_

The two men sat opposite each other, each with their backs on opposite walls of the thin hallway. The taller and blonder of the two tilted his head towards the door of their charges to better hear the conversation going on within. The dark-haired man sat stoically with his eyes fixed on his motionless hands. He could not hear the quiet conversation behind the door, and had no interest in it either.

"Look, man, I don't see the point," the dark-haired man sighed for the fifth time that evening. "You know Marie. She's not into any heavy business. You've been listening in for weeks. They're just normal people."

"She said they were important, Nathan," the taller one spat. "And if they're important to her, they're important to me." He turned his attention back to the door, clearly dismissive of his partner's attempt at conversation.

"I just don't see the point," Nathan said again. "She's your sister, Shawn."

The other man slowly turned his head again. "Exactly," he said, his voice dripping with distain. "She tore my family apart. She ruined everything, and to this day doesn't see that she did anything wrong." He spat onto the ground next to him. "Prancing around with Joseph, happy as can be," he mumbled.

Nathan shifted uncomfortably, and Shawn pressed his ear to Weston and Tazara's door again.

After a few minutes, Shawn shot up from the dirt floor of the hallway. Nathan looked up at him, about to ask what was going on, but Shawn bolted out the door of the hotel. Bewildered, Nathan did nothing to stop him, but walked back into their room, which was a bit further down the hall. Sometimes Shawn scared Nathan, and the plan that Shawn had slowly been revealing to Nathan was one of the most frightening things he could have imagined his brother doing.

* * *

_My name is Nathan Penner and I am a traitor. Traitor to my country, to my duty, to my family and to myself._

_I turned my back on all of these things because of greed. I am ashamed of it, and I never expect to be forgiven. I was willing to sacrifice two innocent lives in order to get what I wanted. For money, I was willing to kill._

_I was told by a kind old woman that what I had ultimately done was valiant. Dignified. She held my face in her wrinkled sun-browned hands and called me a hero. With tears in her soft eyes she told me I'd go to heaven if I died._

_I should be so lucky._

_I hope that what I've done will in some why partly atone for my greed and my selfishness. I hope you might some day forgive me because I stopped being afraid. I only hope it wasn't too late._

_You trusted me. You told me that Weston Moore and Tazara Werner were very, very important to you. I am your family, and you should have been able to trust me. I should have known to do the right thing._

_I followed orders because I was a coward. Shawn intimidated and threatened me into going along with his plan, but it is entirely my fault for not being brave enough to stand up to my childhood friend, my brother in every sense but blood._

_Joseph Blanche, Shawn Kantar, and I were like brothers. But we began to fall apart when Joseph's little sister Katherine stole my heart. Joseph resented me a bit at first, but only because he was protective of his precious little sister and he didn't trust me with something he cared about so deeply. He finally accepted how much I loved her when I married her._

_For some reason, though, the same situation with you and Joseph didn't have the same outcome. Shawn wasn't protective of you and he didn't resent Joe—he resented you and begged Joe not to pay you any attention. It was just so…weird. Of course neither of you listened to him, and Shawn always hated you for that. He felt betrayed, he was lonely, and he was jealous._

_He always hid that from you. He thought it made him seem weak, and you know Shawn. All man, all the time. Couldn't show weakness._

_So when you entrusted him with your friends a few months ago, he saw an opportunity. You said they were very important to you, and he figured it was just like Joe and I were important to him, once upon a time. He wanted to hurt you like you had hurt him. I have never seen a man so filled with hatred for his own blood. I have never seen a man hate his own sister so passionately. _

_My brother was always very unkind to Tazara and Weston. I never had the heart to be. He lied to them often, telling them that they couldn't go home and they couldn't make calls. Shawn could be very persuasive, even when it was a lady as smart and Tazara and a man so strong and so full of common-sense as Weston. Shawn basically held them prisoner without them knowing it and I was like the watch dog. Shawn kicked me around so much I might as well have been._

_Shawn listened to Weston and Tazara's conversations when we went out into the city with them. I agreed with him that it always sounded like they were speaking in some kind of code. They never said much, and when they did it was always short and disjointed, like there was an entire conversation going on between their thoughts and we were just catching small parts that happened to slip through. Curiosity drove Shawn crazy and be began listening at their door to hopefully catch more of this silent conversation._

_After only a few days of that, he finally heard something. A name. "Brennan". At the time, I had no idea what had happened. He just got up and left, and didn't come back until the next morning. I was afraid to ask what he had done because this man I was with was a much angrier and violent man than my childhood friend. I was afraid of what he was willing to do. Now I know that he had gone to his truck and researched the name he knew sounded familiar, and hit the jackpot._

_It is my fault that Tazara is currently in the hospital. Through fear and the love of money, I joined Shawn in gaining some sort of revenge. Honestly, I didn't know what I was doing. But it's no excuse, I know that. He told me all about how the people we were protecting weren't who they said they were, how they were liars and that made them dangerous. And I believed him._

_I paid a guy to hurt Tazara and make it look like a mugging because Shawn thought that putting them in a stressful and painful situation might make them indirectly give more information about who they really were. Tazara was stabbed in the leg and Shawn got the information he wanted. They were hiding from the gang, the gang that didn't have a name but was all the more terrifying for it. The next day, we went to the gang and told them who we had, giving them the real names of Doctor Temperance Brennan and FBI Agent Seeley Booth. They didn't believe us, they shouted at us in languages I didn't speak and claimed those Americans had already been killed. We were eventually able to convince them we were telling the truth and we settled on a price._

_The next morning I couldn't breathe. I knew they were going to take Tazara and Weston and I knew it was wrong, no matter how much money I was going to get. I didn't let anyone on to my doubts because I knew I'd be taken out of the operation if they thought I had cold feet. So I put all the hatred I could on my face and fired shots into the air in the peaceful streets of Calcutta._

_I knew we were there to capture them, but faking their deaths again was the only option. I ran inside and fired a few shots, nodding to the men there as I came back out. "They're dead," I assured them. Somehow they believed me and somehow they didn't care that I had gone against the plan. I don't quite understand that, but I'm grateful beyond comprehension. _

_We got only half the money we had agreed on, which was understandable. I was elated, but Shawn was furious. Once we were back in the hotel, he held me at gunpoint and I was very, very afraid that he would shoot me. But he was my brother, and even as filled with greed and hate as he was, he couldn't bring himself to shoot. When he had finally calmed down, I explained myself to him. I explained how selfish we were being and how nothing was worth the lives of two innocent people._

_Shawn called me a traitor, which I must say was very fair._

_Then he left again without explanation, and didn't come back. He had gone to the hospital, because he knew that Weston and Tazara, or Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan, rather, wouldn't be able to take care of her leg on their own. While he was gone, I explained everything to Lochana, the woman who runs the hotel because I had come into her hotel and fired two gunshots, and it had scared her. I told her everything. The two of you are the only ones who know everything._

_She held my face in her hands and called me a hero._

_I don't expect the same from you, Marie. I betrayed you and your trust, and I don't deserve your forgiveness. I just need you to know the truth. I hope it isn't too late._

_Shawn does not know I am writing to you. He stands watch over Doctor Brennan and Agent Booth twenty-four hours a day. I don't know when or how he sleeps. Perhaps he doesn't. I've heard obsession can do that to you._

_Doctor Brennan was in critical condition. The infection from the stab wound went as horribly wrong as it could have. They called it blood poisoning, but I'm no medical expert and if I ask questions, Shawn might try to kill me again._

_I hate holding them prisoner, and I hate how we all got to where we are._

_Please come save them again, Marie. I don't know how much longer Doctor Brennan has._

* * *

Dr. Jack Hodgins watched Marie Blanche carefully as she opened the mail she had just received. She was trying to ignore his presence and go about her business to keep her mind off the pressing matter at hand, but it certainly looked much harder than it sounded. She looked incredibly stressed and worried, probably about making a wrong move and getting slammed against the wall again. Feeling a very small amount of pity for the woman, Hodgins began to walk away from the doorway he had been hovering in.

"Dr. Hodgins?" he heard from the doorway he had just left. He turned around, and Blanche was holding a letter very nervously in her hand. "You might want to see this."

* * *

_Just so you know, this stroy is NOT almost over. Please keep me going. You know what to do :) -JF_


	15. Running Scared

_So I didn't make good on my promise. I'm in Germany, and this story remains unfinished. But I will do my best to keep writing. Enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 14 – Running Scared**

_Calcutta, India_

Booth opened his eyes and it was still dark. Brennan breathed deeply and evenly, and for some reason Booth found himself grateful she was still asleep.

Hauling himself up off the narrow hospital bed the two of them had shared that night, Booth cracked every joint he had and moaned with pain as he realized how sore he was. He shuffled tiredly around the small room, dragging the chair that sat next to her bed back against the wall where it belonged. He sat himself down in the chair, stretched out his legs and scrubbed his hand over his tired face and slightly stubbly jaw.

In the center of the room, Brennan turned over in her sleep.

The only light in the room came from her seemingly normal monitors. They beeped and sighed at regular intervals.

Booth felt nothing.

It wasn't the numb feeling he had experienced two days before, nor was it the overwhelmed oblivion he had also recently gone through. It was a tired, exasperated feeling. Like he very occasionally felt in the Army when it was just too much and he wanted to go AWOL. Like a paper pusher in a cubicle who had bigger dreams to fulfill. Like he didn't want to be where he was.

Slowly and stiffly, Booth stood up and made his way out of the small hospital room with a tired sigh.

* * *

_Washington, DC_

The squints all stood around on the platform, each with their arms folded across their chests. No one said anything.

The tri-folded letter sat alone in the center of them all on one of the silver examination tables. No one touched it.

Marie Blanche sat in a chair, guarded of course by Dr. Hodgins, looking extremely uncomfortable and even more troubled than she had before. Which was saying something.

"So," Cam began, assuming her role as boss lady, "Would you like to explain this to us?" she inquired in false politeness. Everyone knew Blanche had no choice in the matter.

"The letter explains everything. It's very—"

"Humor me," Cam interrupted flatly.

Blanche took a moment. "A few months ago, I entrusted Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth into the care of my brother, Shawn Kantar, and my brother-in-law, Nathan Penner."

"How many months ago?" Cam asked.

Blanche hesitated. "Eight? Nine? I'm not really sure." Cam motioned for her to continue. "According to this letter, my brother has been very discreetly holding Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth prisoner while trying to collect the bounty on their heads in Calcutta." Blanche looked around nervously.

"Wait a second," Hodgins interrupted. "Let me get something straight. You entrusted Dr. Brennan and Booth to your brother. Your brother hates you and is a very bad boy. So he finds out their real identities and sells them out to the gang. _Your brother tipped the gang off, did he not?_"

"We get the point, Jack," Angela sighed, exhausted.

"Do you?"

"Yes. You were right. Congratulations."

"Please continue, Dr. Blanche," Cam intervened, putting the conversation back on track.

"I thought I could trust my brother. I honestly never knew about any kind of bad blood between us, I swear."

"But this guy Nathan knew?" Angela asked.

"Shawn, Nathan and my husband Joseph were inseparable from the second grade until about two years ago. Shawn and Nathan are still really close. Or…they were. Before Shawn fell off the deep end."

"Okay, so blah blah blah Marie Blanche made another mistake, but was really was just _trying to help_," Hodgins said, stepping forward. "So her crazy brother Shawn is watching their every move and there's no way to ensure their safety because this guy Nathan—another brother of the good doctor here—is a pansy. Is that about right?"

"He saved their lives," Blanche defended.

"Not really."

"So how do we get them back and out of that situation?" Angela asked, trying to calm the room before anything got started. "How do we make sure they're safe?"

"Cullen said all he needed was a few small pieces of information to get them their legitimate false IDs. I've already sent him what I had. The legal part of actual transporting them won't be a problem anymore," Cam said.

"Great," said Hodgins, a little too loudly. "Now we just have to get around the crazy brother with a deathly ill Dr. Brennan. Oh, this is going to be lovely."

* * *

_Calcutta, India_

The smell of the hospital room bothered Brennan when she woke up from a very deep and heavy sleep. The room smelled a bit like formaldehyde with its almost minty kick. It was an odd clean smell and it was very uncomfortable. She tried not to breathe deeply as she opened her eyes.

The first thing she noticed was the obvious: Booth was not there. However, in contrast with previous times she had woken up to find him gone, she was not worried. She did not fear the worst, nor did she long for him to be beside her. She wondered where he was, but that was all.

The second thing she noticed was also very obvious. She was in a hospital. The last time she had woken up she had been in Booth's arms and at the time everything else seemed irrelevant. She guessed this was the same place she had been before. The beeping of her monitors sounded faintly familiar.

Brennan rolled over in the tiny and uncomfortable hospital bed, wishing she were elsewhere. A doctor soon came in and began talking to her about treatment, and his face looked optimistic, but she stopped him before he could get even farther ahead of her.

"Wait, Doctor, please. Why am I here?" she asked.

The doctor looked at her a moment to make sure she wasn't joking. Then, "How are you feeling, Ms. Werner?"

Analyzing how she felt medically for the first time, Brennan took a moment to answer honestly. "I'm tired," she offered up. "But I don't really remember much about why I'm here in the first place, honestly," she admitted with a humorless laugh.

The doctor smiled. "Do you remember how you were stabbed in the leg with a jagged knife?" he asked.

"Yes, I remember that very clearly."

"Well, the blade missed your femoral artery. That's the big vein that runs down your thigh bone."

Thigh bone? _Thigh bone_? Seriously. And it wasn't a vein, it was an artery. Hence _femoral artery_. But Brennan kept quiet. Tazara might have appreciated being talked to like a child. She doubted it, but held back the corrections she so desperately wanted to make.

The doctor continued, oblivious to Brennan's internal monologue. "The wound wasn't taken care of properly, and it got infected. It's a kind of infection you don't see in America, I assure you. It is seen mostly third-world countries. According to the symptoms Mr. Moore was able to describe of when you fell ill and what we've noticed while you've been here, you went into septic shock. Most likely the infection made its way into your femoral artery and spread throughout your entire body, and that's why you've been in a coma. We call it blood poisoning."

The doctor went on to discuss her road to healing. She knew what he would say before he did, so she sat absentmindedly until he got to the part about how long she would be here. "…and after that we should keep you for observation overnight. You should be out of here by Thursday." He took his leave with a polite nod as Brennan tried to think about what day it was.

Booth came in a few minutes later and was faintly surprised to see Brennan awake. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

Brennan smiled at him. "Where were you?"

"Taking a walk." He didn't look at her.

"Where?"

"Around."

"You okay, Booth?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." There was a tense pause. "You're one to ask, though," Booth finally said, a charming smile bursting through. "How do you feel, my zombie princess?"

Brennan couldn't contain her laughter. It hurt her sides but it had just been so long since she'd heard Booth say something remotely funny. It was a glorious moment. Booth smiled genuinely at her as he watched her laugh, like he'd never seen her happy before. But like all good moments, it came to an end.

Booth stared at the edge of Brennan's bed as she took a few calming breaths. In those few quiet moments, Brennan finally realized what was going on. Classic Booth.

"You know none of this is your fault, right?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her, some deep emotion stirring in his chocolate eyes. "How would I know that, Bones?"

Brennan was silent for a minute, wanting to give him a real answer. "I know you would never let anything happen to me."

"Can't you see how much I've let happen?" Booth almost whispered.

"You can't control things like this!" Brennan said, gesturing to the hospital room. "It happens, Booth. It happens to me and that's not your fault. It's the man who stabbed me. It's the gang who took us, tortured us and then tried to shoot us. It is not your fault."

"I gave you this case, Bones. The mass grave. I brought you here. I gave you that case."

"And I took it! I wanted to. I wasn't afraid. I'm still not afraid."

"I am."

"Well I don't care, Booth. None of this is your fault."

"You died, Bones," he whispered.

There was another silence.

"I'm sorry," Brennan said. For some reason, that was the right thing to say. Because dying was giving up, and she hadn't even tried to fight it. She was dragged back through the waters by Booth. She had done nothing. It was selfish.

"Did you talk to the doctor?" Booth asked, changing the subject.

"Yes. He said I'll be out of her by Thursday."

"That's in two days," he said, clearly pleased.

"…then what?" Brennan asked as she looked Booth in the eyes.

"Then we find a way to get home without endangering your life. Which is harder than it should be."

"I'm sorry for that, too."

"Don't be. I'd have no reason to live if you were easy to take care of."

"You don't have to take care of me, Booth."

"I want to."

"Please, Booth, don't."

"Don't take care of you?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a soap bubble."

"I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No, believe me that's not what I'm thinking."

"What are you thinking?"

"Have you ever realized you've never asked me that before?"

"Asked you what?"

"What I'm thinking."

"Yes I have."

"No, you haven't. Not when it doesn't relate to cases."

"I always want to know what you're thinking, Booth."

"I don't want to scare you away."

"I'm not scared."

"Yes you are. You're shaking."

"I'm cold."

"No you aren't."

"Maybe you're the scared one, Booth."

"I already told you that. And you said you didn't care."

Brennan looked down, breaking the quick back-and-forth. Of course she cared. She had just been trying to make a point. She found herself wishing very profusely that he didn't believe her, because if it were true it would break him again.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" Booth asked suddenly.

"You said I died," Brennan answered, grabbing the first thing in her mind she could find, trying to avoid the other thing that stuck out above all others, what she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt Booth was referring to.

"You did. Sort of. You flat-lined."

"How…?"

"I wasn't just going to let you leave me, Bones. We have more murders to solve." Booth smiled.

"We're really going back to DC, aren't we?"

"Yes," said Booth strongly. "We have to."

* * *

_Please review. Hopefully it will help with the homesickness :( Thanks. -JF_


	16. Fault Line

_Greetings from Deutschland! Please enjoy, as always. -JF_

**Chapter 15 – Fault Line**

Brennan stared at Booth until it made him uncomfortable. Sometimes her crystal eyes were like the sea after a storm: calming, quiet, and beautiful, but occasionally they were more like a cold winter's day—harsh, cold, and deathly silent.

"You really don't want to go back?" he asked after a few moments of uncomfortable staring.

Finally she looked away, but didn't say anything.

"Why not?" he prodded at her silence.

Brennan shrugged, and Booth's brain nearly exploded. Bones never shrugged. Bones always had some kind of answer, even if it was 'I don't know'. She always had something.

"Bones, tell me what's wrong."

She looked at him again, but her eyes were sad this time. "I don't want this to change."

"You don't want _what_ to change?"

"This. You and I. What we've made, who we've become. Together."

"You like playing dumb? And the fact that I have absolutely no authority doesn't make you uneasy…?"

"No, Booth, you know what I mean!" Brennan said, her voice suddenly rising in frustration. "How much we…we care about each other. How much time we spend together. How much we share."

"Bones, we're going back."

"But why? What's the _point_?"

"Bones, either we're going back together or I'm going alone and you can stay here by yourself and live this life. But I _just can't do it_, okay? I can't live this life with you anymore. I can't sit here and pretend to be content being a nobody. I need to do something worthwhile, someth—"

"Oh, I see, so helping the impoverished of a third world country isn't 'worthwhile' enough for you?!" Brennan interrupted, her voice dripping with sudden distain. "Because you're not getting any recognition! Poor former 'Special Agent Seeley Booth'! There are no metals for those who work unseen. There's no high honor for doing the grunt work! You are such an arrogant bastard, Booth!"

"Bones, you know what I meant," Booth answered quietly. But she was not done.

"No, Booth. Listen to me. For four years I have put up with your shit," she spat, especially the last word. "Your arrogance, your elitism, your cockiness, your ego. And I'm done. You know what? Go ahead. Leave without me. Go back to Cam or Rebecca or Tessa or whoever else will inflate your ego a little bit more. Go pick up your precious FBI metal for deep undercover work. Go live in your nice apartment; go wear your nice suits and obnoxious belt buckles. Go. Please. Make my life better and just _get out_."

Stunned, Booth had nothing to say.

But angry, he obeyed willingly and left.

XXXXX

Brennan waited for hours for him to come back in to fight with her, to apologize to her, to accuse her of any number of things, to try to convince her to go with him, to plead with her or to insult her…but the sun set and rose again and he did not return.

XXXXX

Thursday came all too soon, and still Brennan was alone. The doctor came in over and over, did test after test, asked question after question, until finally he said she could go. And for the first time since her parents disappeared, Brennan had no idea where to go or what to do. A knot built up in her chest as she came closer and closer to the main doors of the hospital. In one hand she held a bag of the few possessions of hers Booth had brought with him, and the other hung limply, uselessly at her side. She walked slowly, and not only because of the not-yet-healed knife wound in her thigh. She kept hoping, wishing, praying that something would happen.

Brennan exited the hospital slowly and stood in the foreign sunlight for an endless moment. She was alone in India. She was not famous, highly educated, or protected by the FBI. All she had was Tazara's cover story.

That was reality.

And that had to be enough.

Slowly, painfully, Tazara Werner made her way back to her cover story, back to the impoverished, back to the inn, and back to the small room she had once shared with the man she loved.

* * *

The third punch came as no surprise. Booth was ready for it, but that didn't make it hurt any less. He groaned in pain and ended with a laugh to cover it. This, however, only angered his abuser, and the forth punch came before Booth could correctly arrange his jaw.

"You _are_ only hitting me for fun, right?" Booth asked with mock impatience once he recovered, "Because I'm pretty sure I have nothing but entertainment to offer."

"Shut up," Shawn spat in reply.

"Dude, what do you want?" Booth asked with another humorless laugh. "I have nothing. I know no one. I _am_ no one. You're wasting your time and my face."

"Yeah really it's just important that I keep you here where I can see you. Make sure you don't slip away like you did last time. Luckily your girl's a damn vegetable so I can spend more quality time with you, Agent Booth."

The name most certainly caught him off guard. Yet it pleased him a little. The title carried with it the honor he had so terribly been missing. But so much for the whole "I'm a nobody" excuse.

"That's not my name."

"Oh, but it is, Special Agent. You see, I've done my research. You used to work homicide cases that required the expertise of our dear friend Doctor Brennan."

That name sent a shock of anger through Booth's chest. Where it came from or to whom it was directed he didn't know. Booth quelled this response and opted for silence. He quickly figured Shawn, the underappreciated bodyguard, to be the monologue-ing type. And if he ever learned anything, it was that the monologue was his best friend.

"I've_ done_ my research!" Shawn repeated, beginning to pace. "I'm not just a stupid oblivious body guard for two mysteriously endangered people. I know who you are, I know that you're a liar, and I know that there are people who want you dead."

"Naw, really? Is that why we needed a bodyguard? I had no idea…" Booth said sarcastically, unable to help himself. But at least he was ready for the punch to the face when it came.

"Do you realize how much you're worth, Agent Booth?"

"Nope."

"Well, you weren't worth much before I uncovered you, that's for sure," Shawn scoffed self-importantly. "But now that you're a thorn in the gang's side, you're worth one hell of a lot."

"Aaaaand…why is that exactly?"

"You're supposed to be dead," Shawn said, being unnecessarily loud and slow, like he figured Booth for stupid, therefore deaf. "They killed you once, and then twice, and now they're pissed you're still walking around."

"Well, yeah, I know _that_," Booth said with a smile he knew would piss Shawn off even more. "But could you let me know why I was supposed to be killed in the first place?"

Impatiently, Shawn exhaled slowly and turned his back on Booth, pacing away from him. "I'm really done talking to you, Agent Booth," he finally said with a shrug. "I just want my money so shut up until it gets here."

"Okay but just one more question. How much am I worth? Come on."

More to shut him up than anything, Shawn answered reluctantly. "5 million Rupees."

"Oooh…what's that, like a hundred grand?"

"One hundred and two thousand three hundred and twelve dollars, Agent Booth. Each."

Booth let out a low, sarcastically impressed whistle. "Dead or alive?"

"Alive. The boss wants to kill you himself." With that, Shawn turned and left to sit outside the door of wherever he was holding Booth, obviously annoyed with Booth's questions and probably worried about his amateur plans.

In the darkness, Booth slipped into Ranger mode to find a way out of a very, very bad situation. Fate had been kind to him, twice, and he had a sinking feeling that the third time just might be the charm. But tied to the metal chair in the darkness, Booth was not concerned for his own safety. On his mind was a certain woman who would have no idea what was coming for her.

Cursing himself for getting caught by a greedy psycho and even more for leaving her, Booth could only hope that she would not stay at the hospital, if it was at all possible. Time had passed in leaps and drags and Booth could not remember if Thursday had come yet. He prayed that it had, and that she had gone somewhere safe. She wouldn't have known she was in danger, but he hoped her overwhelming intelligence would overcome that ignorance.

* * *

_J Edgar Hoover Building, Washington DC_

The entire squint squad stood apprehensively in front of Deputy Director Cullen's desk as the tired old man took off his glasses and slowly massaged his forehead.

"You're all liabilities," Cullen finally said. "Do you all really think I'd let all of you go on an FBI rescue mission as _liabilities_? You're scientists, for God's sake!"

Cam stepped forward. "With all due respect, Sir, I will be going to India to retrieve my forensic anthropologist. Whether or not you decide to clear me."

Cullen warily looked at the squints. "And I assume that goes for all of you?" he asked, looking at each of them in turn as they nodded their response. "And there's no way I can convince you otherwise?"

They all shook their heads. Only Zack looked somewhat apologetic.

"Well," Cullen sighed, tossing his glasses onto his desk in defeat. "If our best forensics team is going to go on a rescue mission I suppose it's better they do so as liabilities." Cullen paused as they rejoiced a little. "Just don't do anything stupid, alright?"

The squints all nodded again, but Cullen had a hard time believing them. He remembered all the trouble Dr. Brennan used to cause. "The plane leaves at seven. Go home and pack lightly. Briefing is at five thirty."

"Thank you, Sir," Cam said calmly through her mounting excitement.

"You're welcome, Dr. Saroyan. Now leave before I change my mind," Cullen dismissed with a weary smile.

Once outside the Deputy Director's office with the door closed, Hodgins couldn't contain his excitement, or anxiety, or whatever it was they were all feeling. He let out a shout, and with a smile on his face, he grabbed Angela and kissed her for the first time in almost two years. They were going to get their co-workers, their _friends_ back, finally. The reality they had all thought gone forever had a chance of returning. And that reality, with Booth and Brennan and solving murders and eating at the diner and making jokes on the platform…that had been a very, very happy time and they all desperately longed for it again.

"Okay, people," Cam said in her boss voice, trying to bring them back to earth. "We have a lot to do in the next three hours. I want you all back and the lab at four. We're coming back here together and we are going to do everything they tell us to, understood? Doctor Brennan and Booth could still be in a lot of danger."

The squints all nodded somberly and went their separate ways. They knew the risk, they knew the situation, and most importantly they knew that they didn't know much. But despite what they knew, they couldn't help but be optimistic.

Hodgins and Angela walked out of the building hand in hand.

* * *

_The Inn, Calcutta, India_

Brennan sat on the edge of the bed they had shared in a different lifetime, exhausted from all of Lochana's questions. She only wanted to sleep, but knew she wouldn't be able to.

Booth was gone.

He had left her without a word, without a second glance. He had stormed angrily out of her room and he never came back.

And she didn't blame him. She had said awful things she hadn't meant and she had let her words towards Booth drip with a distain that was not meant for him.

Brennan crossed her arms against her chest in hopes to soothe the aching feeling there. He had kissed her, cried over her, brought her back to life and she had lashed out at him because she couldn't handle it. She didn't want to. She hadn't meant to. But she had.

She had chased him away, like she had always feared she would.

Brennan closed her eyes. This pain was beyond tears, beyond feeling sorry for herself, beyond being sorry for what she had said and done, beyond thinking a single rational thought. So there, in the darkness, in the silence, she mourned.


	17. Awakening

_Thank you to everyone who reads what I write. It very simply makes me happy. Please enjoy. -JF_

_SPECIAL NOTE: I'm in need of a beta reader for this story and another I have up my sleeve. Please let me know if you're interested. Thanks. -JF_

**Chapter 16 – Awakening**

_The Inn, Calcutta, India_

Temperance Brennan had lost all sense of time in hopes of forgetting everything else along with it. But nothing else disappeared, and instead of the hours slipping by like she hoped, the minutes dragged on for days.

It had all been so clear, before.

There was so much to be done.

She had been so sure.

She had so much to offer.

But now, given the chance, she could not open her eyes. She sat on the edge of that bed for hours. She could not make herself move.

He was gone.

She willed her eyes to open, but they would not obey.

_Monster_, they whispered at her defiantly.

He had loved her so much for so long.

She could see that now.

Compared to him, what she felt seemed obsolete.

For years he had loved her silently, gently, undetectably.

And now it was over.

_Monster_, the word echoed in her mind.

She knew she would not be able to open her eyes, no matter how hard she tried. Because nothing mattered anymore. It had all been so clear, what mattered and what didn't. But that was before. Before he left and didn't come back. Even if she could make herself move, there was no reason to.

She was alone, and she simply didn't know how to deal with that anymore. He was always there.

Without him, she was weak.

Her eyes shot open at the thought of the word, because of the immense truth it carried. She had come to depend on him so fiercely.

It was pitiful.

And suddenly, the truth rushed over and through her body like ice water.

She was being pathetic.

Of course she mourned what she had said, wished beyond the laws of physics that she could take it all back. She longed for the presence of her partner, her best friend, the man she loved.

She wanted him back and she wanted him to love her.

But she could breathe on her own. She could open her eyes, stand up, and carry on with her life until that day, if it ever came. She could think rationally through his absence, because he did not define her. He made her better, happier, stronger, but he did not take her identity with him when she chased him away.

Resolved, Brennan placed her feet on the packed dirt floor. The organization she and Booth had volunteered with for their cover had temporary headquarters only about a mile away. The stab wound still needed to heal, but she couldn't just sit there anymore. She needed to do something. Something worthwhile.

Tazara Werner took a deep breath and walked out into the busy, ever-peaceful street in front of the inn. Taking a moment to orient herself she soaked up the hot sun and dusty air. Then she began to walk, though slowly, towards the headquarters, towards a cause. Towards the life she could and would live with out him.

* * *

_Washington, DC_

The feel and leathery-champagne smell of a private jet was nothing new to Jack Hodgins, millionaire-extraordinaire, but he simply could not help but look at everything with new eyes. They all hurried as they boarded the jet, but the tension in the air was bittersweet. They were finally doing something. They were taking action, going somewhere, getting them back. It was a beautiful, irresistible prospect.

Hodgins grabbed Angela's hand as she sat beside him.

"We're really going, aren't we?" Angela asked him with a scared, yet hopeful smile.

He nodded, squeezing her hand.

"Okay everyone," Cam said, walking down the middle aisle. "Ready?" They all mumbled anxious responses, ready to get a move on already. "Good," she nodded. "Me too. Now you remember what they told us," she continued as the jet's engines became louder, "nothing stupid. Nothing heroic. And no direct confrontation. No running towards them, no doing anything except for looking like you belong with the undercover tourist team."

"I thought we were benefactors," Zack half-asked.

Cam shook her head with a faint smile. "Just don't look like a squint, look like a spoiled rich man's son, okay?"

"I can do that," Zack stated, ever-so matter-of-factly.

They all couldn't help but smile. They were finally doing something.

* * *

_Place Unknown, Calcutta, India_

Booth couldn't help but laugh a little to himself when he heard the voices beyond the door. For some reason he had expected to not be able to understand, like the times he and Brennan were being held hostage. But of course Shawn didn't speak Hindi. Of course Booth would understand every word. Especially when they were yelling.

"Kantar, you son of a bitch," the conversation began.

"What?" Shawn answered defensively.

"You said you had both of them. You _swore_ you had both of them."

"The doctor is a god damn vegetable, man! Go and find her lying there, wasting away yourself. Not that there's much point of you going there, she'll probably die just fine all on her own," Shawn said confidently. "So where's my money?"

"Stop being such a smart ass," the other, deeper voice spat angrily. "We've already been to the hospital. We're not the idiots you repeatedly make us out to be, Kantar. The doctor wasn't there."

There was a long pause.

"That's impossible," Shawn finally said, fear ringing in every corner of his voice.

"We don't like being lied to," the deep voice sighed, sounding almost bored.

"I didn't lie to you. She was in a coma!"

"And now she's gone."

"Look, I've got the FBI agent. Isn't that enough? One more thing you'll never have to worry about again? Come on, man, this guy wasn't easy to get. Just give me my money and I'll track down the doctor for the other half of the money. Come on, man!" Shawn pleaded. There were a few sounds of knuckles hitting flesh and a moan of pain.

Then the cock of a gun.

"10 _million_ Rupees, Kantar? You really thought we'd hand over 10 million Rupees when we could just kill you instead?"

Shawn whimpered.

"You're an idiot, you know that?"

The gunshot was louder than Booth had expected.

XXXXX

The optimism each of the squints had carried in their hearts disappeared when they reached the hospital and they weren't there. It was supposed to be an easy operation from a safe location with the only variable being Marie Blanche's crazy brother. But the hospital room was occupied by an old Indian man and the nurse at the front desk assured them that Brennan had been discharged two days before. She had been healing nicely.

But sworn to silence, none of the squints were allowed to ask the questions, and therefore did not get some of the answers they wanted. Apparently the FBI guys knew what questions to ask in order to not look suspicious. Dr. Brennan's well-being was apparently taking it too far anyway.

"I don't understand why you couldn't have asked if there was a man with her. I don't see how that would be suspicious," Angela said for the fourth time since leaving the hospital.

The agent she was addressing sighed, answering here for the fourth time. "That would have implied that we were more than just well-wishers, Miss Montenegro."

"But we are more than just well-wishers!"

"What part of 'undercover operation' don't you understand, Miss?" the agent shot back.

"The part where we have no idea where they are or if they're even together!"

"Well maybe you should stay with the van and the other equipment, Miss Montenegro. I'm beginning to fear you will jeopardize this mission."

"If you even try, I swear to God—"

Hodgins chose the moment Angela took a step forward to intervene. "Okay, okay, Angela. You're done now. Sorry, Agent Firth. We're all just really anxious to see our coworkers again," he said, stepping between them and slightly pushing Angela back to where Cam lightly held her back.

"Watch her," Agent Firth told Hodgins sternly.

"Yes, sir," he answered in all seriousness. The agent and the rest of the group then moved on, and Hodgins hung back with Angela.

"What the hell was that about, Jack?" Angela asked, not believing what she had just seen.

"Look, Ange, I understand what you're going through. We're all feeling the same things and we're all just as upset about how this has turned out as you are. But you need to calm down. The only reason we were allowed on this mission at all is because we promised we wouldn't do or say anything stupid or heroic or anything out of the strict box defined by 'liabilities'. And it's hard, I know. You of all people should know that it is absolutely _killing_ me." He smiled, and Angela laughed a little. "So please, just for now, don't be your wonderful, beautiful, emotional self right now, okay? Just try and be boring so we can save them. Because god knows these robots won't be able to do it on their own."

Angela looked at him for an unsmiling moment, and then nodded. Hodgins put his arm around her shoulders and they began walking again as the boring benefactors they were meant to be.

"I just want to know they're safe," Angela said sadly as they reached the group again. "I can't lose them again without ever even getting them back."

Hodgins took a deep breath through his nose. "I know," he said finally. "But it's Brennan and Booth. They always make it."

"Whether or not they decide to let us know about it," Zack chimed in from Hodgins' right side. Jack and Angela gave him a glace, but didn't say anything. It was the truth, and the truth was painful. Instead, they took the moment to look where they were. Seeing they were now paying attention, Blanche, who had remained mostly silent since they had left the lab a day ago, came over to them.

"This is the inn where my brother told me they were staying. I don't see why he would lie about that…I never told him I was coming back. But a few agents went in to talk to the lady who runs the place. If she knew them it would have been by the names of Weston Moore and Tazara Werner. My bet is she does."

Hodgins shot her a dirty look for having an opinion.

Cam finished conferring with Agent Firth. They were all trying very hard not to look suspicious, though this neighborhood hardly seemed threatening. She came over to her coworkers, her friends. For a moment she didn't say anything.

"They're not here."

"Well where are they?" Angela asked.

"The woman who owns this place, Lochana, she said that 'Tazara' left about an hour ago. We know where she probably went."

"And Booth?" Hodgins asked.

Cam looked down. "She says that Tazara came back alone. She hasn't seen Weston Moore for almost a week."

It took a moment to sink in. Finally Angela spoke. "They aren't together."

Cam nodded. "Any ideas?" She was pretty much open to anything. The FBI agents they were with could have all the training and planning they wanted. But the squints were the ones who knew the heart of the matter. Or, rather, the hearts.

"Agent Booth is very, very protective of Doctor Brennan," Zack offered uselessly. But it was true.

"Okay so Bren is in the hospital," Angela began. "At some point Booth leaves?"

"Unlikely," Cam said. "That's simply not in his nature."

"Did Doctor B leave without him knowing?" Hodgins offered.

"More likely, knowing her, but he'd know to come look for her here," Angela said, shaking her head.

They all racked their brains for another possible scenario.

"My brother has Agent Booth," Marie Blanche piped up. The squints all looked her way, some in interest, others in disgust. She shrunk back a bit, but continued. "Shawn is…not very smart. He would have taken for granted the fact that Doctor Brennan was in critical condition and never considered the possibility that she might recover. He's, um…very pessimistic like that."

"Do you think your brother could take Booth one to one? Because in the letter your brother in law wrote you it sounded like he wouldn't be working for crazy Shawn anymore. And Booth is a big guy," Hodgins challenged.

"Shawn is all brawn and no brain," she replied simply. "If he got the upper hand, if he caught Agent Booth off guard…yes. He is very, very strong."

"I'll go tell the agents," Cam said, crossing her arms and walking away. "But first order of business, we go get Brennan," she said over her shoulder.

XXXXX

Tazara greeted the familiar faces on the street with warm smiles that enveloped her whole face. The pure joy that she could bring to these people simply by noticing they were there and giving them the essentials of life was amazing. She had a hard time believing that she had at one time spent countless weeks of study in societies where she made an effort _not_ to make an impact. Obviously it was for anthropological purposes, but this way, the way where she made a difference, was much more fulfilling.

Of course, the entire time she was thinking about Booth, but that didn't mean she had to curl up in a ball and cry because of it. She could still compartmentalize.

When the unknown figure threw itself at her, she knew she was being attacked. But in broad daylight? Then she noticed it was a woman, and although this woman was restraining her, she didn't seem to be making an effort to hurt her. She figured the woman was just grateful for the clean water Brennan was giving out, and Brennan again smiled. But then she focused on the people behind the woman.

"Sweetie…" was all she heard.

The glass water bottles hit the packed dirt of the street and shattered.

She hugged the woman back. It was Angela. And behind her, beaming at her, were Cam and Hodgins and Zack and other people she couldn't care less about.

"Sweetie, we're all undercover, okay?" Angela said as she continued to hug her long lost best friend. "So don't make a scene. We work with you. We're benefactors. Please, just come with us so we can party it up in private."

"Okay," was all she could manage. She had been crazy to think she didn't want to go back. Absolutely crazy.

XXXXX

It was a small hotel room with FBI agents casually standing guard at every door and window, but at least in wasn't in the middle of the street in the crowded part of town in the middle of the day. Dusk had fallen, and the squints had heard almost all of Brennan's tale.

Angela sat next to Brennan on the bed, holding her hand very tightly. Zack sat on the other side of Brennan, his own hands clasped together in some sort of excitement. Cam stood a bit farther back, her arms crossed, but she was absolutely beaming. Hodgins knelt in front of Brennan like a kid hearing the best story ever.

Doctor Marie Blanche sat outside the door, not wanting to intrude. Brennan had recognized her despite the changes and had welcomed her with open arms. Marie Kantar had saved her life. But Blanche insisted on leaving.

Doctor Brennan had looked down in shame when she got to this point in telling these people she loved what had happened. Angela squeezed her hand, willing her to continue.

"I have no idea where he is," she finally said. "I said…I said some very horrible things to him and he left. He said he was going home."

"Without you?" Cam asked, surprised.

"I…" Brennan sighed in defeat, a tear slipping down her cheek. "I told him to."

"Why?" Angela asked softly, like a best friend would.

"He kissed me, Ange," Brennan said, trying to forget the other people in the room. They needed to know everything, but for now she had to pretend it was just her and Angela, like it always used to be when she talked about Booth. "He kissed me and he fell apart and it was…it was too much." She wiped another tear away. "So I don't know where he is," she told the rest of the room. "My best guess would be at the nearest air port."

"Doctor Brennan," Cam said, stepping forward, "You do realize that there is no way in hell that Booth would leave you by yourself in a foreign country, don't you?"

Brennan looked up. "I watched him walk out of the room."

"No way in hell he intended to go any father than the hospital courtyard," Cam declared with a certain finality.

"If you knew the things I said, Cam, I don't think you'd be so sure."

"Believe me, Brennan. I know Booth. And some things simply don't change."

There was a moment of silence. Brennan hoped beyond all hope that was true. But that brought up the next question.

"Doctor Marie Blanche thinks Booth is being held captive by her crazy brother," Hodgins answered the question she had only thought.

Brennan didn't react.

_Monster_, the room whispered at her.

The guilt was all-consuming.


	18. What We Deserve

_I hope to have this story finished within the next few weeks. Thank you all so much for reading, and especially for reviewing. A special thanks to my new beta, _thelastcity_. Please enjoy, as always. -JF_

**Chapter 17 – What We Deserve **

Booth always hated it when people were killed.

This was no exception, especially since it didn't change his situation at all. Obviously, he didn't like the guy who had held him captive without his knowledge for a year and a half. Obviously the guy was crazy and selfish and imperfect…but he was somebody's kid. He was someone's brother, husband, maybe even someone's father. And no matter how selfish this man had been, he was a man, a child of God.

So the silence that followed the gunshot just sounded wrong. It was a merciless execution the man did not deserve.

And Booth knew he was next.

He had pissed the wrong people off two too many times.

The owner of the deep voice and the gun kicked the door to the dusty room open with a sort of manic anger. He stared at Booth for a long moment. Booth stared back, his face expressionless, a hard mask of indifference.

"And so the Immortal lives!" the man finally shouted. He smiled, but it only made him look even more insane and unstable. It sort of reminded Booth of clowns. And he hated clowns. But he decided not to reply.

The man took a few steps forward. "You've caused me a great deal of trouble, my friend. My men have killed you not once, but twice!" He held up two fingers. "But you know what they say…"

"Third time's a charm," Booth answered gruffly with a nod.

"Exactly. So," the man said, beginning to walk circles around where Booth sat, tied down. "I have a few choices. I could blow your brains out myself, watch them splatter all over that wall there and be rid of your annoying ass forever within seconds," he proposed, continuing to pace around Booth. "Or I could shoot you strategically and watch you die a very slow and painful death. Or," he concluded enthusiastically, "I could torture you bit by bit myself and enjoy every moment of it." The man stopped walking, leaning towards Booth's face. "So what do you say?"

"You want my opinion? Well, if I'm honest I'm a really big fan of getting tortured," Booth said indifferently. As long as he wasn't going to die in the next few minutes…

"Agent Booth," the man said with a manic smile, straightening up. "It is your lucky day. Because I just so happen to want to watch you suffer. And do you know why? I find you…" the man paused, trying to find the right word, "annoying."

Booth offered the man a weak smile. "It's a character flaw."

"But I'm an impatient man, Agent Booth." He drew and cocked the gun that killed Shawn only a moment ago. The man hesitated only for half a second, and then fired a shot into Booth's left calf, and then another into his upper left arm.

For some reason, how painful bullet wounds were always surprised him.

It took all of Booth's strength not to cry out in pain. His breathing was immediately labored with the effort. But he was tied down and could not move, even to put pressure on his own wounds. The searing pain was not unbearable, but Booth knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was only going to get worse from here.

Like he had many times before, Booth was staring death in the face. But this time, all he could see was her. Because he couldn't leave without making things right.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" the man taunted.

Booth said nothing.

"But these are the wounds people live through, Agent Booth. Your life is not in danger."

Again, Booth said nothing, trying to focus on not conveying the extreme pain he was in. The man took his silence as disbelief.

"Would I lie to you, Agent Booth?"

Booth pretended to think for a moment, trying to act through the pain. "Mmmm…not exactly. You said you were going to kill me. I believed that. But then you said that my life isn't in danger and now I'm just confused. You understand my situation, don't you?" his breathing was labored but he managed to coat his voice in sarcasm.

"Well maybe I can make it a little clearer for you," the man sneered.

It took Booth a moment to figure out what had happened. He heard the third deafening shot, but didn't feel any pain. He nearly mocked his torturer for missing, but then the pain hit him like a truck. Then he was indignant for a moment. Bastard shot him in the foot. If he lived through this he'd never walk right again.

Booth again groaned a cry of pain, still attempting to keep a strong and fearless front. But the edges of his vision were blurring and he felt extremely light-headed. It was odd that he even noticed, considering the pain elsewhere in his body. He took a moment to look down and was rather surprised by how much blood was coming just from his arm. He could only imagine what his leg and foot looked like, because he could feel the amount of blood he was losing.

God, it was painful.

"Not such a tough guy now, are we?!" the man yelled, already claiming his victory.

There were dark spots over most of Booth's vision, but he watched the door behind the man open as he yelled. He heard Cam's voice, though that seemed impossible. He heard the cock of a hundred guns. He heard Bones call his name, searched blindly around the room to look at her one last time, but the world was fast slipping away. And then he felt one last shot; a bullet straight into his heart.

XXXXX

If they were honest, if had been a complete coincidence.

There was no epiphany about his whereabouts, no special scientific way to figure it out like they had a few times before.

Brennan had finished her story, the news about Booth had been broken, and Brennan sat, immobile, as each of the squints were lost in their own thoughts. In the distance they heard the gunshot.

Then it was silent again. One agent went to investigate the source of the shooting. Marie Blanche went, too, if not just for something to do.

She was the one to identify the body lying in the pool of blood in the foyer as her brother.

The agent radioed for backup and sent Marie outside. There were voices on the other side of the door, and their position was not about to be given away by her crying. Did she want to jeopardize someone's life? Possibly Agent Booth's? No. Of course not. But she could not take her eyes off her dead brother.

Everyone heard the call for backup and there was absolutely no arguing with the liabilities. Every single one of them was coming. There were only three agents, and five of them. Reluctantly, the agents told them to stay the hell back and not to make a sound. On their way to the building, they heard two more gunshots. Each pierced them deeply, because each could have been the last.

Any one of those shots could have ended Booth's life before they reached him, before they could have done anything to stop it.

They reached the building as the third shot was fired. They heard a man's muffled cry of agony.

"It's Booth," Brennan sighed, half terrified for the pain he must be in, half elated that he was alive enough to convey that pain.

The agents filed into the foyer of the abandon building with their weapons drawn. They whispered threats against the liabilities to stay the hell back. Agent Firth kicked the door in, and they all rushed into the room. Brennan followed.

"Doctor Brennan, stay back!" Cam ordered, or pleaded, she wasn't sure. She tried to grab Brennan's arm, but she twisted away and Cam didn't have the will to truly fight her on this one.

All four guns were cocked at the same time. The man standing in the center of the room turned his head to look at the intruders.

Brennan had rushed forward despite the specific orders. As if anything else could be expected of her. The amount of blood she saw in the microsecond she looked absolutely terrified her. "Booth!" she cried, without thinking, without being able to help herself.

At the shout, Booth's head jerked up, searching for her even though she was certain he couldn't see.

The man's face contorted in anger and he aimed his gun once again at Booth and shot without hesitation, though he didn't have time to aim.

Four sequential shots were fired and the man dropped to the floor. He was stepped over and forgotten as a few agents ran forward to untie Agent Booth and assess his injuries. It was a miracle he was still breathing.

The med-evac that had been on stand-by for the supposedly comatose Doctor Brennan had been called by the first agent on the scene and was already thumping in time to his failing heart overhead.

Brennan was at his side, apologizing, though she knew he could not understand her, not in this state. But it was all she could do. Tears fell freely down her cheeks as she repeated herself over and over.

"I never meant any of it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please Booth. I never meant any of it. I'm sorry. Please, Booth."

Cam and the two agents with extensive medical training pushed her aside to stop the bleeding. Brennan didn't even resist, she just limply stepped back to let them do their work. She stood by the wall, out of the way, her arms crossed, the beating of the blades overhead resounding in her empty chest. She watched helplessly as people rushed in and out of the room, each with jobs and missions to get the bleeding to stop.

There was so much blood.

He had accessed this part of her, and she partly blamed him. If he had not opened her up to the idea of loving him and being loved herself, perhaps she would be helpful in this situation. Perhaps she could forget who he was and focus on what needed to be done. But now her despair and her guilt and her shock made her completely useless.

She watched as the agents heaved the dead weight of Booth up and out of the room, to the helicopter that had at some point landed outside. Cam ran alongside them, holding pressure to Booth's chest. Brennan felt the need to be doing that. She should be doing that. That was her job.

She didn't move, though, until Cam called to her over the thumping of the med-evac's blades. She was waving her forward.

Finally Brennan snapped back into it and ran forward and got on the helicopter. Once inside, she sat by Booth's head. "What do you need me to do?" she asked, trying to forget the fact that she was still crying. She needed to help.

"We've got the wounds, Doctor Brennan," Cam said, more softly than Brennan deserved. "You take care of Booth."

Understanding right away, Brennan looked down at him and placed both hands on the sides of his face. Her fingers touched his throat and she could feel his pulse. She placed his head carefully in her lap. A few of her tears fell on his face and she softly brushed them away. The helicopter lifted off as the team worked over the rest of Booth's body. There was so much blood.

Brennan leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm so sorry. I never meant any of it."

He sighed into her hair as she pressed her cheek against his.

She heard the panic in the voices of those around her and felt her heart disappear, or shatter, she couldn't quite tell.

She had killed him.


	19. A Little Fall of Rain

_Disclaimer: A few lines in this chapter do not belong to me, for the record. You'll know them when you see them. The characters aren't mine either._

_This story has been a WIP for 3 years. Good god. I really hope this chapter comes across. Please review and keep me chug-a-lugging to the end of this story. Thanks for reading, and, as always, enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 18 – A Little Fall of Rain**

"They have the best cardiac surgeons in India," Cam reassured her, again.

Brennan heard her over the helicopter's blades, but didn't look up or thank her or even acknowledge that Cam had spoken.

His face looked almost peaceful. It looked like he had been punched in the face a few times. There was dried blood in one corner of his mouth and a bruise had already formed on his jaw. And yet he looked…handsome. He looked brave. She had always admired that about him.

His shirt had been cut away so the main wound in his chest could be evaluated and tended to, and his chest was covered in blood. It was this sight that brought Brennan back. He was dying. He had been shot four times and he was bleeding too much. He was dying.

Brennan ripped her eyes off of Booth for a moment to look at the others in the helicopter. The two agents had their heads down, working double time over Booth. Cam, however, was holding a steady pressure to the left side of Booth's chest, tears streaming down her cheeks and Booth's blood on her forehead and in her hair, like she had swept her hair back out of her face with a bloody hand. She felt Brennan looking at her and met her gaze. There was a strong, deep sadness in Cam's eyes. Brennan looked down at Booth again, afraid of the accusation she might see in Cam's eyes if she looked long enough.

"We land in thirteen minutes," the pilot called back to them. "Is he holding up?"

"He'll make it," Cam called back, seeming to be reassuring herself along with everyone else. "He has to," she added sadly, to herself, but Brennan heard. And agreed.

A few more minutes were passed in tense silence. Or at least, however silent a helicopter ride could be. Brennan watched Booth's chest rise and fall with his weak and labored breathing. She kept her hands where they lightly rested on the sides of his face, where she could feel his pulse through the tips of her fingers that rested on the soft skin of his throat.

Suddenly, Booth stirred. "Ow," he said softly.

"Booth?" Brennan asked leaning over him again, her heart suddenly racing. "Booth?"

Booth opened his eyes, and though they were clouded over, Brennan knew he could see her. He slowly brought up his right hand (as his right side was completely unharmed) and touched her face, very lightly.

Ironically, he looked concerned. "Why are you crying?" he asked her softly, his eyes murky and confused.

She hadn't even known the tears had been streaming down her cheeks, but at his inquiry, a sob broke out from her chest and she couldn't control the ones that followed. Why was she crying. Because she was a monster. Because this was all her fault. Because he was dying.

Cam had noticed Booth was conscious. "Booth, I need you to listen to me," she said loudly. "Do you remember what happened?"

"Camille?" he asked, completely confused.

"Yes, Seeley, it's me," Cam replied, but was all business about it. "I'll explain that part later. Do you remember what happened to you?"

"I…I got shot," Booth answered, almost in disbelief. "I got shot a lot." He seemed to think for a moment, then he looked at Brennan again. "Is that why you're crying?"

Brennan didn't answer him, and his eyes widened the slightest bit. "Am I going to die?" he asked. It seemed like such a simple question. But the way he asked it, it carried depths Brennan couldn't have ever imagined.

Yes, goodbye? Or become a coward _and_ liar and say no? She couldn't handle either.

Luckily, Cam cut in. "That's up to you, Booth," she said toughly. "I'll hate you forever if you give up on us here."

"Don't want that…" he said, his consciousness obviously wearing away.

Brennan, in a panic, thought this very well might be the last time he would be able to hear her when she spoke to him. "I'm sorry Booth," she said, hoping everything she wanted to say fit into those three words. She knew it was a different three words she needed to say, but she couldn't. Not like this. She couldn't say it out loud just to have him leave like everyone else always did. She cursed herself again for being a coward.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Bones."

And then, suddenly, all the pain came rushing back to him and he roared in horrific agony. Then he fell silent again.

XXXXX

It was odd, just sitting there. Angela, Zack and Hodgins were at a complete loss for what to do. They felt useless, really. They were sitting with their backs against the outside wall of the house, facing the empty alleyway the foyer opened out into. The two agents who didn't go in the helicopter were dealing with the bodies of the gang leader and crazy Shawn. Marie Blanche was watching them, her eyes clouded over with a disbelieving haze. Not only was her brother a traitor and a greedy monster, but now he was dead to top it all off.

Neither of the murders was a mystery, so the left over squints' strong-suit was useless. They each sighed in turn.

"Do you think he'll make it?" Angela asked them.

Neither answered her. They faced forward, expressionless.

"…yeah," she sighed, agreeing with their silent answer.

Just inside the house, Marie knelt next to her brother's body, leaning over to close his eyes. She had loved her brother very much before this whole ordeal. It was sad to think that he had died hating her. But she could not cry. He had bargained with people's lives, and lost his in the process. Not to say he deserved death…but he had it coming.

It was easier, she noticed, with his eyes closed. Before he had looked so shocked. Now he just looked dead. Marie stood up and exited the foyer and joined the squints outside.

Three sets of eyes followed her as she walked through the threshold. There was an awkward pause, but then in a moment of rare sympathy for Blanche, Hodgins was the first to speak.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

Marie shook her head. "Thank you…but I have a feeling that the brother I loved died a long time ago. That man in there…I didn't know him." She slid down the wall on the other side of Zack and joined her colleagues in thoughtful silence. She tried to decide whether what she said was true or if she was lying to make it easier on herself for the moment. She couldn't make up her mind.

XXXXX

Brennan was determined not to be a wreck. She was dead-set on being helpful. There was no way she would let them push her away because she couldn't keep herself together.

It had always, since the beginning of their partnership, been a concern that medical professionals would shut one of them out when the other was wounded, because in most cases, "working together" was a very weak tie and didn't make you worthy of updates and visitation rights. They had agreed long ago that if one of them were seriously injured and unable to speak for themselves, the other was allowed to claim any sort of relation to get family privileges.

Brennan was ready to tell the hospital workers who rushed out to the helicopter on the roof that she was his wife, but no one asked. Perhaps it was because she looked like a total wreck, or because of the certain way she held his face before they unloaded him. Or maybe they could just _tell _because feelings these were simply too strong to overlook.

So she didn't have to fight for it. She stayed by his side until they whisked him away to the operating room. They promised her an update as soon as they could and someone put a reassuring hand on her shoulder as Booth disappeared from sight. Numbly, but determined to keep herself in check, Brennan sat in one of the chairs in the hallway.

Cam, whom Brennan had forgotten existed, sat next to her and let out a long sigh. Brennan glanced at her and saw that Booth's blood wasn't on her face anymore. Which was a good thing. She didn't need any more reminders than the nightmare on instant replay in her mind. They just sat there for a moment.

"He loves you very much," Cam finally said.

Brennan nodded. "I know." What else do you say to that?

"I always believed that Seeley loved me at one point," Cam mused.

Brennan was suddenly very uncomfortable. What do you say to _that? _'Look who's on top now, bitch!' just didn't seem appropriate.

Cam continued. "What we had, when we had it…it was great. I loved him. And I always knew that he loved me back."

"Do you still love him?" Brennan asked, uncertain.

"I do," Cam answered with a smile. "I was completely heartbroken when I was told he was dead two years ago. I was a wreck. He's such a good man."

"He really is."

"And then we got here and I wanted to see him and talk to him again and I just end up covered in his blood, holding pressure to a gunshot wound in his chest and doing my best to ensure he doesn't bleed to death and hoping he doesn't die the second I got him back." Cam closed her eyes, trying to get the image out of her mind. It had been completely horrifying.

"That must have been awful," Brennan offered, doing her best to be empathetic.

But Cam shook her head. "The thing is, Doctor Brennan, Booth already died. In my mind, in my heart. He died two years ago. I had to deal with it then, face the emotions that came with it and I had to move on. It took a really long time, but I did it. So I knew, the second I saw him today, what I would do if he doesn't pull through. That doesn't make it any easier. Maybe it makes it harder, you know, to know the kind of pain I'll go through. But I'd prefer that over what's happening to you right now."

"And what exactly is happening to me?"

Cam smiled, as if she seemed almost glad to explain this to her. "Doctor Brennan, I never got to my point earlier. I loved Booth. I still do. And I always believed he loved me too. But he didn't. Maybe he did, to some extent, but I'm certain that he's never loved anything in his life more than he loves you."

Brennan wanted to smile, because she knew to the very core of her being that it was true. But for some reason, a profound sadness came over her instead. "I don't deserve him," she confided in a whisper. But Cam just smiled sympathetically.

"You're brilliant and beautiful and brave and strong willed and you know yourself. What more could he want?"

"Someone who isn't afraid of him," Brennan sighed. "Someone who isn't afraid to be loved and love back."

Cam shifted in her chair to face Brennan more directly. "I'm going to make you consider something very unpleasant, Doctor Brennan."

"What?" Brennan asked, her eyes widening a little.

"If Booth dies…" Cam began, but it was too much. It was too close to reality. Brennan let out a sob at her words, and tears welled in Cam's eyes as well. Fighting it, she continued. "If Booth doesn't make it, are you going to be glad you never had the chance to really love each other or will you regret it and never be able to look at yourself the same way again?"

Brennan looked up at Cam, both women's eyes swimming with tears. "He kissed me."

"Good for him," Cam said with a teary smile. "He had always wanted to."

"It was after I flat-lined in the hospital," Brennan explained. "God, that was only a few days ago. Not even a week." She shook her head. "But I think I'm beginning to understand why he did that."

"Why?"

"Because he had to answer that question. Because I know what I'll do the next time I see him," she said with a little smile. "I get it now."

"I'm glad," Cam said sincerely.

But Brennan's face fell again. "If I ever see him again."

There was nothing to say to that. Cam thought for a moment, and went out on a limb. "Doctor Brennan, would you care to hug?" she asked.

"Very much so," Brennan answered, and the two women, who had once been at such odds with one another, embraced, bonded by the hope that just maybe he'd make it.


	20. Heroes in Heaven

**Chapter 19 – Heroes in Heaven**

Seeley Joseph Booth had been through a great deal in his thirty-seven years.

His childhood had prepared him for a future in which nothing would ever be easy, and his future had certainly lived up to those expectations. From the Rangers to the FBI to fatherhood to India, nothing was ever easy, as promised.

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

It wasn't so much the pain, though of course that was a major factor. It was what the pain meant. It was what was at stake here. It was a life he had only just salvaged. It was a promise he had to keep.

So even though the pain was trying its best the drag him into unconsciousness, he had to tell her.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Bones."

It seemed like he should have said something else but a voice in the back of his mind was telling him it would be a selfish thing to say at this point. If he died today, he will have missed his moment completely. But he did get the chance to spend two relatively happy years with her. He would never take that for granted.

Every night for two years, she had unconsciously held his hand.

If that was as much of her as he'd ever have, he could die a happier man than most.

XXXXX

He wasn't the first thing in her life she'd loved and lost.

But she swore he would be the last.

The pain. Wasn't. Worth it.

XXXXX

Cam watched the despair in her friend's eyes turn to stone when the surgeon approached them. It was an awful sight, to watch her harden like that within seconds. Both women both feared and craved the news they were about to receive and it was obvious that Brennan was preparing for the worst. And Cam couldn't blame her, considering.

XXXXX

She hated him for doing this to her.

She didn't mean to love him.

It had been a mistake.

And this pain was the consequence.

XXXXX

The darkness was the worst part, aside from the pain. He kept trying to remember what she looked like but couldn't for the life of him.

This darkness was quiet. He hated this deathly silence.

It was like a battle, when the shooting stops and nothing moves because nothing is left.

Like a cold silence between two people who used to love each other.

Like her eyes had been. _Ah, there she is._ He remembered now.

But she was silent too. She did nothing to fill the void or lighten the darkness or lift this oppressive weight on his chest. Shouldn't she?

Then she flickered and disappeared. He couldn't remember anymore. He had lost her.

The darkness pulled him under shortly thereafter.

XXXXX

Cam left her alone and went outside to call Angela. The ones they had left behind deserved to know what had happened, and she needed an excuse to leave. Brennan needed to do this alone. Cam had no business being there or loving him. Not anymore. Not like this.

XXXXX

Brennan couldn't bring herself to touch him. They had left her alone with him, though she didn't see why. He couldn't hear her if she had wanted to talk to him in the first place. Which she didn't. There was nothing to say.

She sat in the chair beside his still body and stared at him. Her heart beat painfully and unevenly and tears pricked at her eyes. She ached all over.

"I hate you," she whispered. But she didn't move to leave, because she wanted nothing more than to sit with him.

XXXXX

"So when are we going back?" Hodgins asked Cam from the other end of the line.

"Probably tomorrow," Cam answered with a sigh. "There's no reason to stick around."

"Right," Hodgins answered softly.

"I hate this place," Cam said sadly as another tear slid down her cheek.

Hodgins inhaled deeply. "Yeah," he agreed.

XXXXX

When he opened his eyes, the first thing they landed on was her, like he had known she was there all along. Then he smiled at her.

She loved him. God, she loved him.

Damn it.

XXXXX

When he opened his eyes, he saw her next to him. Or at least he assumed it was her. It could have been anyone. He couldn't really see. But he hoped it was her he was smiling at.

"Bones."

The outline of the woman stood up and took the step necessary to be at his side. "Booth," she answered softly. Her voice was lower and heavier, but he would recognize it anywhere. "Booth, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice still very soft.

"Mmm," he grunted in affirmation.

"You're going to be okay," she told him, as if it were the most important information in the world. And then again, in a whisper to herself, "We're going to be okay."

XXXXX

Shawn Kantar was buried not far from the place he was executed.

Nathan Penner, his brother of sorts, was found dead in the small room he and Shawn had lived in. No one would ever know who killed him, or why. It could have been Shawn, it could have been the gang. It could have been anyone, really. Those who may have known the answer to that question were dead.

Yes, Brennan and Booth had made it. But they had been lucky. In this whole ordeal, many lost their lives and weren't to be forgotten.

Marie Blanche laid a white rose on each of the graves before her.

What would she say to her husband Joseph, when she told him his brothers were dead? What would she tell Katherine? That her husband was probably killed by his own brother? Possibly. But she would certainly tell him that he died a hero. And heroes go to Heaven. She would appreciate that, being a devout Catholic.

Marie turned away from the graves, wishing she were irrational enough to believe in a place like Heaven.

XXXXX

It was amazing how much abuse a body could take and still live.

The surgeon explained everything to him, though the drugs made it very hard to follow exactly. But he did get the basic gist of it: he was extremely lucky. He cast a glance towards Brennan, and she was listening very intently to the doctor as he spoke. Yeah, lucky. As if he didn't know that already.

The doctor left and Brennan sat in the chair next to him with a sigh that seemed to come from deep, deep within.

"How are you?" he asked her.

"Don't ask me that, Booth. Not after I almost got you killed."

"I almost died. There's a difference."

"Not when I was the one who sent you to your death."

"Stop it, Bones," Booth said very seriously. "This wasn't your fault."

"Coming from you, that's funny."

There was a tense moment.

"How about this, Bones. Shit happens."

"I don't know what that means."

"These kinds of things happen to people like us. It's just the way it is. Nothing is anyone's fault. Shit happens."

Brennan thought for a moment. "In both cases? 'Shit happened' to me, too?

Reluctantly, Booth gave her this one, because he knew it was what she needed. "Yes."

"Then I accept," she said, triumphant. "Shit happens." Was she smiling?

He laughed a little, and winced from the pain it caused him. "Ow."

"You really should get more rest," Brennan said, concerned.

"Bones, I'm not even moving. How could I possibly get more rest than not moving?"

"Don't talk so much."

"You trying to shut me up?" he asked playfully, closing his eyes.

"No, Booth," Brennan answered, her voice still full of concern. "No, I want you to heal. And the best way to do that is to rest as much as possible. I really just want you to get better."

Booth smiled again, his eyes still closed. "Okay Bones. I can do that for you."

Brennan just looked at him, her vision blurring as tears without reason clouded her eyes.

Damn it.

It was so worth it.

* * *

_:) I hope I made some of you really mad at the beginning there. Let me know! Please please please review. We've got one more chapter and an epilogue to go. Hope you enjoyed it! -JF_


	21. Home

_I write because it makes me happy. This is what made me happy. Sorry if I disappoint. Hope I don't. One more to go. Enjoy. -JF_

**Chapter 20 – Home**

It was odd, trying to get back into the old routine of things.

Technically, she didn't have to work. Russ had refused to spend a cent of the money she left to him in her will, so it had just been sitting, collecting interest. Right away, she sent a great deal of money to the organization she and Booth and worked with for their cover, hoping that it would make up for not being there actually doing the work, because she was worth more here, catching murderers with Booth.

Booth was reinstated at the FBI the moment the hospital cleared him. They were eager to have him back on board, and he was excited beyond words that he didn't have to fight for his job. They pretty much handed it to him before he was even fully healed. They also promised him his position as liaison to the Jeffersonian, as it had never been filled.

The weirdest thing about being home, at first, was the separation. Their first week back they didn't see each other at all. Booth's hospital room was full of FBI officials, family members and long-lost friends, while Brennan had to make public appearances and private meetings, got signed on for another book and spent time with Russ and Angela. But when the day was done, and visiting hours were over, Brennan and Booth both found that they could no longer sleep alone.

The second week was better, and each week after that got easier. Parker Booth never wanted to leave his father's side, but Brennan certainly didn't mind spending visiting hours with both of the Booth boys. Booth was apprehensive about telling him everything that had happened, and he and Brennan both tried to tone a lot of what happened down when Parker asked his relentless questions. It was stressful, trying to retell a nightmare and just make it sound "tough" instead of horrifying.

Booth was sent home the third week, and Brennan stayed with him in his (new) apartment to make sure he was taken care of. They spent nearly every moment together, but it was mostly spent in silence. Living together was the one thing in Washington, DC that didn't take any getting used to.

But Brennan still cursed herself for being a coward. She had told Cam that day in the hospital that she knew what she would do the next time she saw him, if she ever got the chance, and she'd had an infinite amount of chances both in the hospital in India and since they'd gotten back, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. He was here, in front of her, and he was fine. He was healing well and regaining his strength quickly. He was in no immediate danger of either dying or leaving her and still she couldn't summon the courage to tell him.

The way they interacted was like their feelings had never been out in the open at all, like they were still hiding from themselves and each other. It was never mentioned, and they barely even touched. Occasionally Brennan's fingers would linger when she took care of this bandages, but that was all. Except, of course, when she reached out every night and unconsciously held his hand.

But eventually, Booth healed.

Neither of them could summon the courage to ask if she could stay, so she moved back into her own place.

Work continued as usual.

XXXXX

The nightmares were the hardest part. When Brennan managed to sleep deeply enough to dream, they were back in India, back in Hell. It hadn't all been bad, but in her dreams it was always horrible. He'd be next to her one moment, screaming at her—and then he'd be gone, which of course, was so much worse. He would be so angry, and then he would be ripped away from her by a terrible unknown force. She'd search for what seemed like hours without moving at all, though she fought so hard. And then, finally, he was back in her arms, but he was cold, limp. His blank eyes stared at her in silent accusation and she would throw him away from herself. But then that pain would be so unbearable that she would search for his lifeless body again. But of course, it would be nowhere within her reach. She would crawl through the darkness, through the searing heat, tears streaming down her face, until she simply couldn't any longer. She would stop where she was—wherever the hell that was—and wrap her arms around her empty chest, hoping to disappear as well.

She always woke up curled up into a ball, the covers thrown off of her. And she was always alone.

She tried her very hardest to pretend that everything was fine around Booth and the rest of the squints. Brennan was still Brennan, and was able to do a very good job of it. Before, it had been compartmentalizing. Now it was just acting. Hiding.

XXXXX

Luckily Booth had a lot of experience seeing right through her. Two years of complete exposure had given him a wonderful insight into how she functioned. Of course he didn't say anything. He knew she was dealing with being back the only way she knew how: hiding. And he'd let her, at least in front of the others. When he caught her alone, it would be a different story. Unfortunately, since she moved out of his apartment, she had been avoiding him at all costs.

It was the fourth message he'd left her.

"Hey Bones, it's me. Haven't seen you in a while. Well, no, I have, but we only talked about work and then you had to leave. Love to have you over for a beer. Call me."

Booth closed his cell phone and dropped it on his desk. He sighed a deep sigh.

He missed her so much.

He had Dr. Brennan back, the woman who had always confused him and driven him crazy in more ways than one. She was back in her element, and they were back to where it all began. She explained puncture wounds to him on the platform, pointing out miniscule details with a sort of excitement in her eyes, and he'd watch her, pretending to listen to the words she was saying, yet only hearing the happiness in her voice. It was a happiness he hadn't heard in a very long time. A happiness he could never give her. This part of her, this huge, gigantic part of her, could only be sated by science. And now she was able to feast to her heart's content.

The Bones he loved, the Bones he had spent the last two years with, was overshadowed by this powerful woman who knew who she was and knew what she wanted and needed out of life. It was as if the blue lab coat covered up his Bones, caged her in, protected her from him and what he might do—what he might offer.

But she couldn't hide forever. Eventually, he would catch her before she put the lab coat on. He would find her in the time between waking and becoming Dr. Brennan. He would find her and offer her a different kind of happiness. One she had tasted, and loved, and wanted to keep, but she had just forgotten somehow.

XXXXX

"Bones! Hey Bones!"

Dr. Brennan closed her driver's side door and turned to the familiar voice and nickname. "Hey Booth," she greeted affectionately. "How are you?"

Booth took a moment to think, to answer honestly. Then he smiled. "I'm good. I'm really good."

"What's that?" Brennan asked, pointing to the manila folder in Booth's left hand. "A new case?" she asked hopefully.

"Uh…no," Booth said slowly, looking down at the folder as if he'd forgotten he was holding it. "But I wanted to talk to you about it."

"Okay, well, come into my office then. And we'll talk," she offered and began walking towards the building.

"No!" Booth said suddenly, and she turned around.

"No?" she asked, confused.

"I uh…I want to talk to you about it here. Now."

"…in the parking lot."

"Yes," Booth said. "Yes. It's a…thing. Trust me on this one."

Brennan, concerned, took the few steps back to her car where he still stood. "Is everything alright, Booth? You look…worried."

"Anxious, I would say, Bones," Booth said, forcing a smile.

"What's wrong, Booth?"

Booth now held the unlabeled folder with both hands, staring at it. He didn't answer her.

"Booth?"

"I'm buying a house," he answered suddenly.

"That's great," she answered happily, taking milliseconds to process his answer.

"…yeah," he said hesitantly. "Putting down roots. After knowing how quickly it can all get swept out from under us."

"Yeah I know," Brennan said a little sadly. "I'm happy for you, Booth. That's really great."

"I want you to co-sign the papers."

Brennan took a moment. "Is this a money issue, Booth?"

"No, of course not. I would never ask you to do that."

"I'd be glad to help you if it is."

"No, Bones. I have all the money I need." He shifted his weight, found his courage. "I want you to live with me, Bones. I want you to co-sign the papers and pay half the money and share the master bedroom with me. I can't sleep anymore, Bones. I can't sleep without you by my side. I want you to live with me, and I want you to stay there. I want to love you and make you breakfast and I want to have a family with you. Please."

"Booth…"

"Please," he repeated.

She took another moment, trying to find the exact right thing to say. She had thought everything had gone back to normal but it had all just been a cover over what had been in the working for two years, maybe longer.

"I can't marry you, Booth," she answered.

"I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to live with me, commit to me, have a family with me. I'm not asking you to sign a marriage certificate or wear a ring. I don't need that from you," he pressed.

"Why are you doing this, Booth? Why are you asking me for all of this?" Brennan asked quietly, closing her eyes.

"Because I'm in love with you."

Her eyes shot open. Of course she knew that. But to hear him say it felt so different from just knowing it.

"And I can't go another day without cementing you to me in any possible way that I can. Not because you'll run, or hide, or your feelings will fade. It's impossible, at this point."

"Impossible?"

"This feeling will never go away. I felt you die in my arms, Temperance Brennan. I felt you die and you're still here. I will never, ever take you for granted. I am going to love you for the rest of my life. And I know you feel the same way."

"How do you know that?" she asked, but it only came out as a whisper.

"Because it takes two to tango, baby," Booth said with a smile. He took a step closer to her and put his hands lightly on her hips. "Can you sleep anymore?"

"No," she answered in a breath that mingled with his.

"Move in with me," he said, pulling her ever so slightly closer to him.

"I can't."

"Move in with me," he repeated, drawing her closer.

"I can't, Booth."

"Please, Bones," he whispered, drawing her the final inch towards him. "Move in with me."

She looked up into his eyes, those beautiful eyes. "I love you," she said in answer. "Isn't that good enough?"

He held her even closer. "Of course it is."

He let her go and took a step back, a smile still pulling it his lips.

She felt his absence immediately and wanted to be in his arms again. It was pathetic, weak, and giving in to alpha-male persona. She could stand on her own two feet. She didn't need him. But then she saw it. She saw their life, their happiness. The private, wonderful things they had shared while living together. That warm feeling she felt just knowing he was there. That whole feeling she felt when she let him protect her from those who wanted her dead. That light feeling she felt when it wasn't necessary to stand alone.

No, she didn't need him.

But she wanted him. Wanted what he offered. Wanted those feelings again. For the rest of her life.

Taking a deep breath, Brennan leaned against the hood of her car. Booth watched her, expressionless, the file in his hands taunting her with happiness. He wasn't going anywhere. Brennan repeated that to herself. He wasn't going anywhere. "Do you have a pen?" she asked.

Booth, ignoring her request, attacked her, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her unbelievably tight. Without thinking, without trying, his lips landed on hers once more. After a very long while, he set her down and ever so slightly released his grip on her, keeping her body close to his. "So that's a yes?" he asked.

"Yes."

Booth thought for a minute, then went out on a limb. "Will you marry me, Bones?" he asked as a legitimate question.

"Yes."

"What, seriously?"

"Yes."

"Just like that? But you just said…"

"I changed my mind."

"In the past minute?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Brennan didn't answer, but smiled and pulled his face towards hers. She kissed him slowly, seductively. Like lava. Like she had never kissed him before. Like she had never kissed anyone before. She felt his heart break out into a gallop and smiled against his lips. Oh yeah.

Oddly enough, he was the one to pull back. "Are you sure?"

Brennan put her hands on either side of his face. "Anything else is unthinkable, Seeley Booth," she whispered. "Impossible."

And then she kissed him again. Slower.

They had a lifetime, but they were going to savor every second of it.

* * *

_Review for happy endings! Or, well, happy almost-endings._


	22. For What It's Worth

_This was originally the epilogue, then I wrote a second epilogue, so I had two epilogues and I was confused. So here is a bonus chapter, dedicated to those who have stuck it out this long. Enjoy. -JF_

* * *

**Chapter 21 – For What It's Worth**

The nightmares were the worst part.

He was there one moment, and then he was gone. All his things, all evidence of him was gone. She was held captive in this huge, empty house where she lived alone with the memory of the man she had entrusted her heart with, the man who had taken it with him. It was unbearable, that empty feeling. But she wouldn't search for him. Not this time. This time she knew why he was gone, and that she could never get him back.

He had always been all too willing to make the sacrifice that would make her the most unhappy. He had always been willing to die for her.

This nightmare was always the same. He died a hero, and she had to live through the pain of no longer having her husband by her side. Her husband of two weeks. Her husband of three months. Her husband of a year. Two years. Three years. The nightmare never relinquished its grip.

But it was worth it. It was all worth it. The nightmares were worth the dream she lived. The awkward work days when bosses advised the end of their partnership were worth the partnership itself and how completely kick-ass it remained, no matter what anyone said. The rumors spread behind their backs through the Bureau and the Lab were worth never having to say goodbye at the end of the evening, at the end of a case, at the end of their careers. The cold, angry silences were worth the hot, steamy sex. The fights that nearly brought the house down were worth the love that seemed to reach to the core of the earth itself.

It wasn't easy, God no. Being married was the hardest thing Booth and Brennan had ever attempted, ever lived through. And that was saying something. Sometimes they ended up with disgusting emotional bruises and bleeding, aching hearts. Sometimes it felt like it would have been easier to have died in India before they made this decision. But they never once regretted it. Because it was a single life shared. That life wasn't perfect, but it felt so right.

Eventually, bosses stopped giving them a hard time after seeing the work they were still able to do just as well if not better than before. Eventually everyone got used to what they had become, which was something completely different from what everyone had always expected. Everyone had expected a fire that burned hot and then died shortly thereafter. But Booth and Brennan had become the warmest, longest lasting embers anyone could have expected. The Booths, as they jokingly became known though Brennan didn't change her name, were the best crime-investigating, bad-guy-catching team the world had ever seen.

"Hey, Booth!"

Both of them turned at the sound of their last name.

Deputy Director Cullen smiled, handing them a new case file. "I'm never going to get used to that."

Brennan just smiled. She certainly had.

"It's been three years, Sir," Booth answered his boss, handing Brennan his coffee in order to look at the case. "Oh," he said trying to hide his disgust, quickly closing it again.

"Never said it'd be pretty," Cullen shrugged.

"Never is," Booth sighed. "Come on, Bones. Time to go get knee-deep in death," he said, putting his arm around his wife and leading her to his office.

Work continued as usual.

And together, at home, in the house they owned and shared, things settled into relative normality. Of course, with Booth and Brennan, it could never be completely normal. They loved each other far too much.

It made her happy to watch him watch her. He so often had this look on his face as if he were still in awe that he was allowed to keep her for the rest of his life. He would play with the ring on her left hand, seemingly in awe that he had put it there. That she had let him put it there. That after three years it was still there and she still loved him. Still stayed with him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him as he played with her ring. Her shoulders were bare and her skin looked like creamy snow. He kissed her shoulder and lay back on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

"Nothing," he answered.

"Tell me."

Booth sighed. "Have you thought more about…kids?" he asked hesitantly.

"I have," she answered matter-of-factly.

"…and?"

"It's pointless to argue, Booth," she said with a sigh, rolling onto her back as well.

"I wish you'd change your mind," he said sadly. So what if this world was full of horrible people? Adding their child to it would make it a little less horrible.

"I won't, Booth, I'm sorry," she said, sounding sincerely sorry she couldn't give him what he deeply desired.

Booth sighed.

"I'm having this baby whether you like it or not," she continued.

Booth sat straight up, staring at her, shocked. "What?!" he nearly yelled.

Brennan laughed. She was _laughing_.

"Bones, what are you talking about?" Booth asked, grabbing her bare, beautiful shoulders. "Don't mess with me, Bones," he said, calming down as she continued to laugh. "Yeah, real funny." He let go of her shoulders and rolled over, staring angrily at the ceiling.

There was a moment of silence, and then he heard the sheets next to him rustle. For a moment he thought she had gotten up, but then he felt her ice-cold feet on his calf, and then her satin-smooth hand on his chest. Soon she had melded every part of her body to his. But he was still pissed. Couldn't she see how much he wanted this?

"Booth," she whispered into his neck.

He didn't answer.

"Booth," she whispered again, kissing him just behind his ear. The hand that had rested on his chest found its way to his face and turned it towards hers. Their lips met for short moment. "I'm sorry," she said.

"You know how much I want this. And then you go off making me think that just maybe you might be…" he broke off with another sigh. "Just don't do that to me."

"I didn't mean to…make you angry, Booth. I didn't," she whispered. "Just don't be angry with me when I tell you the truth."

Booth turned his face to hers on his own accord. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm pregnant," she confessed, still in a whisper.

"What, seriously?"

"Yes."

"But you've always said…"

"I changed my mind," she said with a smile.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Well you bring it up all the time…I figured I just had to wait a day or two."

"What made you change your mind?" he asked.

"I decided that anthropologically speaking…it would be selfish of me not to," she answered.

Booth looked at her, scrutinizing, for a moment. "I don't believe you."

Brennan sighed, and then her answer came out in a rush. "It's been three years and I realized that I'd never be happier than I am whenever I'm with you, no matter what, and I guess I finally accepted that you are never, ever going to leave," she said, leaving out her deepest fear that he would die protecting her. Or their child. "And if I'm this happy with you, I can't imagine how much happier I would be with another person who is half you, half me."

Booth still had the scrutinizing look on his face.

"What?" Brennan asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"That's very…Booth of you."

She laughed a little. "I don't know what that means."

"Very romantic. Very touchy-feely. Very UN-Brennan."

"Well I did marry you, didn't I?"

Booth couldn't help but smile with pride. "Yes, you did."

"Is it such a surprise that I'm taking on one of your more charming qualities?" she asked, snuggling herself even closer to him, her face tilted up towards his.

He kissed her sweetly and ran his fingers through her extremely soft hair. "How did I ever think you were just some cold, sexy scientist?" he asked, kissing her again.

"The same way I thought you were just some dim, cocky cop." She kissed him back. "I love you, Booth," she said for possibly the millionth time. It still gave both of them a thrill whenever it was said out loud.

"I love you too, my Bones, my breath, my heart, my life," he said softly. "My soul, my love, my wife." He smiled against her cheek. "The mother of my child." He put his hand on her stomach. "And I love you too, Baby Booth," he whispered. "Who ever the hell you turn out to be."

Brennan laughed a little and rolled onto her back, pulling Booth with her so he was on top of her. But he just looked at her.

"What?" she asked again.

"I'm glad we didn't die," he said simply.

"Me too," she said with a confused smile.

But then he kissed her again, not bothering to elaborate.

Yes, indeed. It was a very good thing they hadn't died, to say the least.

* * *

_Keep a look out for the last installment! Please review. Thanks. -JF_


	23. Epilogue

_Dedicated to the innocent._

**Epilogue**

Logan Booth's parents had always had this weird saying.

"We love you. Whoever the hell you are."

They thought it was hilarious, and he had always intended to ask them the story behind it someday. But though he had no idea why they said it that way, Logan always knew what they meant. He always knew that he could become anything (except for any kind of criminal, what with famous crime-solving parents and all) and they would love and accept him.

Logan played a lot of different sports. He tried his hand at all the different school clubs and completely owned every year at the science fair. Logan dated a lot of girls. Different kinds of girls. He marched to the beat of his own drum, which meant he was good at absolutely everything. He was the hottest hunk of teenager the world had seen in a long time. He was jock and nerd and a drama kid all at the same time, and made it look effortless. But with parents like his, it was understandable.

But now, Logan Brennan Booth, the Golden Boy of Central High School, was staring death in the face.

Not threatening death, charging at him. Someone else's death, lying in front of him.

The mass grave still felt like death. Though the bodies had been uncovered and moved twenty-two years ago, nothing had ever touched this damned ground to make it anything other than what it once was.

Logan could have gone anywhere for spring break this year. He had been invited to seven different week-long beach parties and on three separate road trips. He was friends with everyone, and would have had the time of his life wherever he had gone.

But sometimes, he took after his mother and preferred to fly solo.

So here he was, alone, in Calcutta, India.

After all the stories he'd heard (once he had been deemed old enough to hear them), one might think that he would avoid this city above all others. His parents nearly died here. Multiple times. But that was exactly the reason he was here. To walk in their footsteps. To see the world that couldn't be captured by his mom's book or by his dad's descriptions. To see what it was about this place that made his mother want to stay, and hopefully to avoid the danger that convinced her to leave.

"We love you. Whoever the hell you are."

Well, right now he was a volunteer. He was an eighteen year old hot-shot with a sense of humility. He wanted to do good by others. He wanted to offer help to those who needed it. Luckily, Mom kept close ties to the organization they'd worked with twenty-three years ago. Apparently she was the only reason it was still up and running.

Logan never had to search for his identity, or a purpose in life. He could be whoever the hell he wanted. And this was who he wanted to be.

This was the place that harbored the love out of which he was born.

The plastic bag full of water bottles he carried was heavy, but he carried it with a huge grin on his face. He loved the feeling of warmth in his chest when he gave someone a simple bottle of water, no strings attached, and seeing the joy it brought to their faces simply to have something clean to drink. Then he would tell them about the food back at headquarters. And they would be even happier.

He could see why Temperance Brennan, though famous and filthy rich in her other life, would like it here.

But he also saw how vulnerable he was. Logan could take care of himself in a fight, but his dad had taught him that it was always better to be on your guard in order to avoid a fight. Down every alley, danger lurked. Behind every strange face could be someone who wanted him dead for no reason at all. There were so many hiding places, and so few options if he had to run.

So, he could see why Seeley Booth, though he was such a kind and generous man, would absolutely hate it here.

But now Logan had come to the dead end he had been searching for. He set the bag of bottles on the dirt next to him and walked over the upturned earth. He sunk slightly, and had a sudden vision of sinking in completely. Grasping, screaming, but being pulled down from Hell itself.

He took a step back onto the packed dirt of the street. It wasn't the first time he'd been to a place like this, where death still lingered. But he had yet to get used to it. It was the one trait both of his parents had, and yet neither had given him. Logan hated death. Felt like running when he smelled it. Felt like crying when he saw it.

Logan turned on his heel, picked up the bag, and returned to the busy street. There were thirsty people waiting for him.

The hands that grabbed him from behind were stronger than the hands of Hell he had imagined. Colder. Rougher.

Was this death? He hadn't even done anything.

"Thank you for making my job easier," a cold, hard voice whispered to him from behind.

Logan fought against the hands that held him. But they were strong. Then he heard the cock of a gun.

"I know who you are," the voice said.

"I'm no one."

"You're Booth."

"I'm not," Logan answered as the cold, rough hand tightened around his neck. It was broad daylight. In the street. Wasn't someone going to help him? He fought against the strong arms again, but stopped when he felt the cold metal of the gun pressed against his temple.

"My father made a mistake in letting them live in the first place. I have a family legacy to save. I have vengeance to take, you understand?" the cold voice seethed at him.

"Look, man, I don't know what you're talking about. I'm no one!"

"Any last words, Baby Booth?"

Not knowing what to say, Logan shut his eyes tight and prayed to the God that his father had taught him to trust when fighting wouldn't work.

"Good boy."

XXXXX

Limbs intertwined, wrapped in blankets, they slept deeply through the cold November night. The phone rang, and half asleep, the man in his late fifties answered it as his wife of twenty-one years held his hand in her sleep. She stirred when he spoke.

"Booth."

"Did you really think you'd make it out alive?" the scratchy voice came from the other end.

"Excuse me?" Booth asked, finally waking up.

"There are only so many lives you can take, Booth," the voice sighed, sounding almost bored. "Someday you're going to have to give some back."

"Who is this?" Booth demanded in his most frightening cop voice. Brennan woke completely, staring at him in wide-eyed fear.

There was an odd rustling on the other end, as if the phone were changing hands.

"Dad?" Logan's voice came, loud and clear, over the phone. He sounded out of breath. Beaten down. Defeated. But brave.

"Logan?"

"Dad, don't—"

But he was cut off by a deafening gunshot.

The phone changed hands again.

"I'm the man who killed your son."

XXXXX

The secrets, the memories, the pain that this city held were something they had hoped to never revisit. They had sworn long ago never to go back.

But here they were, on a hope and a prayer and against everyone's deepest insistences that they stay home and grieve like normal parents. But of course, normal parents were something they never were, and couldn't start now.

They didn't know where to begin. It was a desperate search for something. Anything.

But they were here, hand in hand, to find answers. Possibilities. Doubt. Because what they heard, what they were told, what had been proven by others as truth wasn't necessarily reality. They of all people knew that.

This was not necessarily reality.

This was not reality. It couldn't be.

* * *

_Thank you for reading. The End. –Jesse Falling_


End file.
